


The Precise Choice of Words

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A New Side Of John, Explicit Sexual Content, First Everything, First Kiss, M/M, Sherlock Teaches John A Thing Or Two, The Blind Banker, The Gay Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's comment about their being colleagues sets things in motion. Sherlock attempts to find out exactly what he feels and what John feels. And then together they experiment with different ways of dealing with what they've discovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock Doesn't Want To Talk About It

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock shook Sebastian's hand. He glanced at John and said, "This is my friend, John Watson."

"Friend?" Sebastian asked.

"Colleague," John corrected.

"Right," Sebastian said, shaking his hand before dismissing his secretary and sitting down.

"So, you’re doing well," Sherlock said, "You’ve been abroad a lot."

"Well, some."

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?"

Sebastian just laughed and pointed at Sherlock. "Right. You’re doing that thing." He looked at John and said, "We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It’s not a trick," Sherlock said quietly.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story," Sebastian said.

John nodded. "Yes, I’ve seen him do it."

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him."

 Sherlock's face dropped for a second, but no one saw.

"You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night," Sebastian explained.

"I simply observed," Sherlock said.

"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world -- you’re quite right. How could you tell? You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan."

John looked at Sherlock who started to speak before Sebastian interrupted, "Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!"

Sherlock let a moment of silence hang before he said, "I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me."

Sebastian looked strangely at Sherlock. So did John. Then Sebastian explained about the break-in and showed John and Sherlock around the building.

It was definitely an intriguing case and Sherlock was grateful for it. His immediate deductions were useful and he was eager to get started. Yet something was distracting him. As they left the building, he realised what it was: it was John. The way John and Sebastian seemed to share a joke at his expense. The way John took Sebastian's money even though Sherlock didn't want it. The way John had said _colleague_.

 John followed behind Sherlock as they left the bank, wondering why he was so quiet. Was he thinking about the case already? "Sherlock? Do you have something already?" John was curious to know what theories Sherlock was coming up with.

"You got paid already. Were you intending to actually do any of the work or just let me do all of it?" Sherlock said, looking down the street to hail a cab.

"What?" John asked, thrown off by his tone and what he was saying. "It's . . . it's only half and -- wait. Why shouldn't we take it? He's hired you to do a job for him, it's only fair! And I always help you, as much as I can, anyways . . ." 

"Yes, right, I'm sorry. I know you help. I am just annoyed . . . he annoyed me. Fine, yes, it's to do with pillars. We need to find Van Coon." Sebastian had annoyed Sherlock, but in truth, what he was feeling about John wasn't annoyance. Sherlock knew that feeling well, and this was different. It was something else entirely, but even he would admit he shouldn't respond it to it, until he knew what was going on. He would need to watch his words with John until then.

John still didn't feel better, as if Sherlock had just ghosted over the problem, but he didn't say anything. "He was a huge arse in there," John agreed. Hearing him talk about Sherlock that way had made him angry, but in attempt to be professional he'd just let it go. Perhaps that had been a mistake.

"He's always been like that. No 'tricks' are needed for it to be blindingly obvious that he's an idiot," Sherlock said as they settled into the cab. He stared out the window. Seeing Sebastian reminded him that he wasn't normal. He had never cared about that; if anything, he'd worn it like a badge. But perhaps it was being reminded that John _was_ normal that was what had upset him. John and Sherlock were so different in so many ways. Had he confused himself about that? Is that why he'd said friend instead of colleague?

But John had corrected him: they were colleagues. John was normal, Sherlock was not. They worked together. John took the money, Sherlock did the deducing. That's all, right? That's all there was, John as good as said it. Sherlock would need to remember that.

John looked over at him and could see that something was clearly bothering the man, much more than the case. "Well . . . don't pay attention to anything he said. He _is_ an idiot. We don't care what idiots think," he said, trying to make it better. To make Sherlock feel better. He was so used to Sherlock being detached that he forgot he could actually be hurt by idiots like that.

We? thought Sherlock. Who is 'we' now? We non-idiots? We colleagues? Stop, he told himself, stop dwelling. "No, I don't pay attention to what idiots think," he said, looking at John, "I don't care. You are correct." He tried to make a smile or at least some kind of face that said let's end this talk about Sebastian now.

John bit his lip at Sherlock's strained expression, but it was obvious he didn't want to talk about it anymore. John went back to looking out of his window and didn't say anything else until they got back to the flat. "Do you want tea or anything?" he asked as he hung his jacket and took off his shoes. 

"Yes, please," Sherlock was already on his laptop, investigating. "We'll need to pay him a visit," he said, scribbling down an address and then added, "After tea, of course. I can go on my own, if you prefer."

"Why would I prefer that?" John asked as he turned on the kettle.

"I don't know, I'm not saying you would. I'm just trying to be . . . accommodating. There's no crime in that. You're tetchy today," Sherlock said.

"Me?" John asked, coming into the sitting room. "You're the one that's been in a mood since the bank. What do you mean 'accommodating'?" 

"I'm just trying to show you the professional courtesy of not making assumptions about your time and how you spend it," Sherlock could hear that his voice sound unusual, but he didn't know how to change it. "Should we just stop talking for a bit?"

John's brows furrowed lightly. "Why? Are you mad at me?" Maybe he should have punched that guy at the bank. Is that what this was about? Or because he took the money? He'd send it back in a heartbeat if that's what Sherlock wanted. Before Sherlock could answer, the kettle sounded and John went to fix their tea. He brought the mugs and sat down, waiting. 

"John, we work together, right? I know we live together and that allows for more personal interactions, but I am afraid perhaps sometimes I've been too familiar, making assumptions that put you in awkward positions. I'm trying not to do that. That's all that's going on. Do we really need to say any more about it?"

"I don't understand," John said. Work together? He supposed he could call it that but that wasn't all they did. The living together happened first, they were friends, more than -- John's thought stopped suddenly as his stomach dropped to the floor. More than _colleagues --_ "Fuck," he said quietly. "Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Sherlock took a sip of tea and looked at his laptop. "It doesn't matter," he said softly.

"It does," John said, feeling worse by the second. "I just got impressed with the fancy bank and I wanted to come off as professional and I knew what he'd say --" he cut off again and shook his head. "But none of that matters, not more than you. Of course you're my friend. I'm sorry I said that." 

"It doesn't matter, John," Sherlock said. "Let's just forget it."

"I don't want to forget . . . I don't want you to think you're not important to me, even if I didn't go on cases with you."

"Obviously, I'm important to you. That cheque in your pocket gives you an excellent reason for me to be important," Sherlock said. "See? That was not a very friend-like comment for me to make, was it? I've never been good at friendship, John; if you didn't know that before, Sebastian's made the evidence very clear. I don't know what made me think I'd get any better at it." He lifted his hand as if to brush the whole thing away.

John felt even worse now, the cheque like a stone in his pocket. "This is the first time we've gotten money for a case and you've been important to me before that. Do you want me to tear it up? Give it back? Please . . ." he begged, knowing he had no right to. He was completely at fault and he'd messed up bad this time. _I just didn't want him to think I was your boyfriend_. He kept that to himself though because, honestly, what the hell did it matter? He'd never see that guy again -- why care what he thought? "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"It's fine, it's over now," Sherlock said, standing. "I would greatly appreciate this conversation ending. I'm going to Van Coon's apartment. Are you coming?" He reached to put this coat back on.

"Yes, I'm coming," John said, standing quickly. He felt bad and a bit awkward but he wanted things to be normal. He had to fix this. He just didn't know how.

Sherlock had not been surprised at what they had found at Van Coon's, but he was surprised when he didn't see Lestrade. He introduced himself, but, after what had happened earlier, he didn't even bother introducing John. Dimmock annoyed Sherlock. They made their way to the restaurant to speak with Sebastian, and Sherlock had to admit that Sebastian's inappropriate response to the news -- and John's comment about it -- did make him feel a little bit better about John's earlier reaction to their new client.

Once in the cab on the way home, Sherlock said, "We've got no food in the flat. Do you want to stop to get some?"

At the restaurant John wanted to say something, but there was no chance, and as quickly as they went in they were out again. John felt even worse seeing that man again. "Um, yeah, we should probably get something," he nodded.

They got out at a chip shop near home. Sherlock ordered separately, letting John order his own, but he paid for both. They walked the rest of the way back. When they got in, Sherlock got out two plates and set them on the table. He dumped his food onto one and sat down, leaning over to turn on the kettle.

"Not so impressive now, eh?" he said to John in between bites.

"What's not impressive?" John asked, wondering what he was talking about. He was trying his hardest to sound normal and not like a small child. He felt like complete shit.

"Your man Sebastian. I assume you don't find him so admirable after our second visit," Sherlock said, not looking up at John.

"I never found him admirable. Whatever I imagined went out the window when he started to speak," John said. "I dislike him. A lot."

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Just out of curiosity, what do you find admirable in a person?" He stood up to make the tea.

John looked up at him, feeling that Sherlock was asking for a specific reason. "A decent human being," he shrugged. "Someone who's kind and loyal."

Sherlock thought about this for a moment. John was kind, but if he was honest, this morning's surprise had made him less sure about his loyalty. Sherlock was very loyal, but probably not very kind.

"Are you enjoying your fish?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," John nodded. "Sherlock . . . you're a good friend. You are. That was stupid of me to say that. I messed up, I'm sorry."

"Fair enough," Sherlock said, setting the cups of tea on the table. "Let's stop making a fuss, I don't like the fuss." He reached for the newspaper and skimmed the front page.

"I feel bad," John said, fingering his mug.

"Well, what do you always tell me when I feel bad? You say, Shut up, Sherlock, or go to your room and deal with your guilt privately," Sherlock said, without looking up.

"I have never told you to go deal with anything alone," John said, hurt by that.

"Perhaps you should have," Sherlock said. "John, I don't know what to tell you about this. I really think we should move past it. If you can't, maybe you _should_ deal with it in your room or I'll go to mine and you can do it here."

Sherlock didn't like being hurt, even accidentally, and the truth was he had been hurt by what John said. He was trying to follow his own advice and let it go, but every time John mentioned it, he felt himself wanting to say something unpleasant. He knew it probably hurt John and he didn't think that was really his intention, but it was like he couldn't stop. Perhaps he really wasn't cut out for friendship after all.

Sherlock stood up and set his mug in the sink.

"Don't," John said quietly, feeling embarrassed when he only went to the sink. "I -- don't go, okay? I'll stop."

Sherlock didn't turn around but said, "Okay, I won't go." He washed the plate and mug but then stood at the sink, not knowing quite what to do next. Eventually he turned around. "So have you got some plan for the evening that involves neither feeling bad nor talking?" 

"Not really," John admitted. "But I am open to suggestions."

"I've already made my suggestion and you didn't seem very open to that one. I think in these sorts of situations, you are the obliged to come up with the activity," Sherlock said. He knew his words didn't sound particularly comforting, but he really was trying not to be unpleasant.

"I don't know," John shrugged. "Want to watch a film?"

"A film is an acceptable suggestion. Are we going to have to have a long discussion about which film? I'd rather not. You pick one. I will watch it," he got up and moved to the sofa.

"Okay," John said, moving to the shelf next to the telly where he kept a few films. This was so awkward. He'd never felt so guilty about anything and he had no idea how to fix it. What would Sherlock want? How could he prove that they really were friends? That he cared about him? He grabbed a movie at random, didn't even look at the title and popped it in, sitting down on the sofa to watch it.

"On second thought," Sherlock said standing, "I'd like to change my clothes. I'll be back by the time it starts." He went to his room and put on his pajamas. He felt more comfortable. He stopped to look at himself quickly in the mirror. He tried to relax his face. He and John were just hanging out at home -- the same as last night and the night before. Whatever happened this morning didn't matter. What words anyone used didn't matter. And besides, he had already put a limit on words this evening. He tried to change his face again and then gave up and went back to the sitting room.


	2. Sherlock Wants To Talk About It

Sherlock slumped onto the sofa, turning and putting his knees up. He looked at the telly. "Excellent choice of film, John," he said, despite not having the slightest idea what film it was.

John raised his brows lightly. "Yeah? I don't even know what this -- oh," he nodded suddenly, recognising it. "Yeah, it's alright."

"See? You really should have a bit more trust in me, John," he smiled a little. It was genuine.

John smiled back. "I have a feeling you don't even know what this is," he teased. Was he allowed to? He felt like he'd lost the right to do that after this morning.

"Didn't I say no talking, John?" Sherlock pushed his feet down against John's legs. He hoped that the teasing would lighten things because he really didn't want to talk about it all again.

"You talked first," John countered, pushing his legs away, grinning now.

"John, you're talking through this whole movie. Now I don't have the slightest idea what's going on in it and which character I'm supposed to care about before he eventually dies but in a way that actually affirms life and makes me reflect on all that is good in the world. However will I make sense of things now?"

John burst out laughing. "You're talking so much more than I am! And spouting nonsense like that!" He looked to the telly and pointed. "Him. That's who you worry about."

"Fine, I'm very worried about him now." Sherlock turned his head back the television, but slid his feet down again against John's legs. "No more talking."

John silently pushed his legs away again.

Without turning his head, Sherlock pushed them back.

John pushed them again, following his lead and keeping his head facing the screen.

This time Sherlock, still facing the telly, slid down flat on the couch and dropped his feet onto John's lap.

John shook his head and pushed them off again, grinning.

"Stubbornness is unattractive," Sherlock muttered under his breath. He waited a minute, turned on his side and this time slipped his feet under John's thighs.

John squirmed and pushed his feet away again. "You should stop then," he teased.

"My feet are cold. I'm asking your help as a . . . friend," Sherlock said smiling, squeezing his feet back under John's legs.

John looked over at him with a mock murderous look. "Fine. Just this once."

"See? That wasn't too difficult, now was it?" He shifted himself again, lying flat on his back. "Is this guy dead yet?" He wiggled his feet under John. "Ow, you're hurting my toes."

John squirmed again because it tickled a bit. "Then get a blanket," John said. "And if you were paying attention instead of harassing me you'd know."

"Will you get me a blanket, please?" He turned to face the television. "I'm trying to get caught up on the movie. Please . . . buddy?"

"I'll not let you bribe me, Sherlock!" John laughed, grabbing the one from his chair anyways. "Can you move your feet now?"

"Thank you," Sherlock said, covering himself and snuggling over on his side again. He flicked his feet a little so the end of the blanket covered John's lap. "Here, if you're cold, you can use it as well." He didn't slide his feet under again, but he did stretch out far enough that one foot touched the side of John's thigh. 

John glanced over and couldn't help smiling. He covered his lap but didn't say anything.

Sherlock was still for a little bit, but then he sighed, "John, this film is horrible."

"Well, you pick one then," John said, looking over at him.

"No, that's too much work," Sherlock said. "Maybe it'll get better." He pushed his feet again on John's legs, but not hard.

John sighed softly and put his hand on Sherlock's ankle, just resting it there under the blanket.

Sherlock tucked his hands under the blanket. "It seems cold in here," he said.

John nodded his agreement. "Maybe something happened to the heat," he said. "Want me to light a fire?"

"That'd be nice," Sherlock said, looking up at him. "If you don't mind."

John shook his head before hoisting himself up and getting a fire going. He checked on Mrs Hudson who swore she left a note on their table about it. The man was coming out to fix it tomorrow. When he sat down again he let Sherlock know.

"I didn't see a note," Sherlock said. "Mrs Hudson is a liar." Then he turned to look at John, "Will you shut off all the lights? I like the fire better when it's dark. Please? I'm too cold to get up." He pulled the blanket up to make himself look more pathetic.

"Tonight is the only night I am allowing such behaviour, Sherlock," John said, getting up again and turning all of the lights off. When he sat down again he pulled his legs up. "Please don't make me get up again."

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said. "Do you want some of this blanket?"

John still had his jeans and jumper on so he wasn't feeling that cold. Besides, Sherlock was so tall it hardly fit to cover him. "I'm okay."

"All right then," Sherlock curled up a bit and turned back to the film. "Is your taste in cinema always so poor or is this one just an anomaly?"

"I told you that you could pick one out if you wanted," John said, keeping his eyes on the screen. This wasn't his favourite movie in the world but it was all right.

"Next time, I will," Sherlock said. "And why again did you say colleague when I said friend?" He asked the question as if he were just asking about a detail in the film.

John flushed and looked down. "I thought you didn't want to talk about that," he said. 

"That's not an answer to the question," Sherlock said, still looking at the telly.

"Every time we go out everyone thinks we're sleeping together, and I knew if you said friend he was going to say the same thing and I just . . . tried to head it off, stop it before it could go there. I just wanted it to be about work." John said, still looking down. "It wasn't against you, I just wanted to stop him."

"What you said hurt me, John. I don't really do friends, you know that. I'm not . . . good at it," Sherlock said. He was quiet for a minute. "It confuses me that what Sebastian thought was more important to you than . . . I don't know, I didn't know it bothered you so much what people think about us." 

John rubbed his face hard and sighed. "It doesn't, Sherlock. It doesn't. I don't care. I just . . . when it's our friends I don't care as much but -- fuck, I don't know. I don't know why I said it. I'm sorry."

"You care so much about a stranger thinking we're lovers that you'd risk . . . being unkind to me?" Sherlock said. His eyes were burning a little from staring at the television, so he closed them for a moment.

John's chest clenched so tightly at those words that he was sure his heart had stopped beating. He shook his head, and to his complete embarrassment his vision blurred. "No. I didn't think before I said it. I'm so sorry," he mumbled. 

"Why is it so important to you what people think about us?" Sherlock said softly. "Tell me the truth."

John shrugged. "When Harry came out . . . it was just a big mess. Everyone was angry and fighting all the time." He rubbed his face hard again. "I can't see it as something positive . . . so when people assume I'm gay, it takes me back to that and I get stressed out and worried."

"Well," Sherlock said. He thought for a moment. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I wish you could just relax about it all. It'd be easier for you. And for me as well, it appears."

"I don't think about it until someone mentions it," John said. _And then makes me doubt myself like I have been since Harry came out._ He didn't say that part aloud.

"Still . . . it seems to genuinely upset you. I'm sorry about that," Sherlock said. "Personally, I think it's a compliment."

"What is?" John asked, looking up now and hoping his eyes weren't too red. 

"People thinking we're together."

"Are you kidding? I'm shocked they think I could get someone like you," John said. 

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "Look, Donovan is always directly insulting me to my face. She calls me freak, for god's sake, John. Her implying that I take a handsome doctor to bed each night, that I'd even be capable of being in a relationship -- it's actually a compliment. It's really all in the way one thinks about. Can't you try not to let it get to you?" 

"My every experience with it has been bad," John shrugged. "I usually keep it together but . . . I just don't know what got into me this morning."

"Also interesting," Sherlock said. "Are you saying you've had . . . experiences with it or do you just mean the Harry thing?"

"The whole Harry thing is the biggest thing," John said. "She dragged me to a club with her back when I first went to Uni and some drunk guy tried to take me home. When I refused to go he went around campus telling everyone I had anyways. I lost respect on the rugby team because of it -- none of the other guys wanted to train with me since there was so much tackling." John shrugged. "I know it's stupid kids stuff, and we're grown now, but I can't forget." 

"Really, I'm seeing a new side of you, John. I thought . . . I don't know, I'm sorry you've had a bad time. I'm just surprised, I guess," Sherlock didn't know exactly how to say what he was trying to say. "You seem so sure of yourself, you're smart and strong -- I guess I'm just surprised to discover something from long ago has made such an impact. I'm surprised, that's all." He added, "It's okay. Now that I know it's a pressure point, I'll understand if you need to insult me again in the future."

"No! Sherlock, no, that's not okay," John said. "Whatever personal problems I am dealing with here does not give me the right to be nasty to my best friend."

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound a bit daft. A grown man hurting his best friend just because of something some idiot college kids did fifteen years ago? Yes, that does sound daft. Yet . . . that's what you're saying happened this morning." He let that sit for a minute. "You don't have to say anything else, John. We don't have to talk about this anymore." He curled up a little tighter.

John felt like shit again. Everything he said was the wrong thing. He didn't know what to do. The problem was that he was afraid he might be gay, but with the way people usually reacted, how was he supposed to say anything? He was so used to just denying it. He was so good at that, it was pretty much second nature now. "I think I'll go to bed now," he said quietly, getting up and making sure Sherlock's feet were covered before he walked towards the stairs. 

As John passed him, Sherlock reached out and grabbed his hand. "Don't go up, not yet. Stay down here with me." He dropped John's hand. "At least stay until the end of the film." He tried to smile a little. 

John sighed softly and sat down because Sherlock had stayed before when John asked him to. He stared at the telly, lost in his own head. How long could he keep up this flip-flopping? Would Sherlock bring it up whenever it suited him just to punish John?

Sherlock turned his attention back to the television, but he quietly said, "It's okay, John. Now that I understand, you can say whatever you need to say, if it makes you feel better. I mean it."

"No, it's not okay. It's selfish," John said. "You deserve better than that."

"John," Sherlock lifted himself up and turned to look at John. "Look at me. We're friends, right? If it helps you, it's okay with me. It hurt when I didn't understand. Now I do. Maybe you won't always feel like this, but for now, it won't bother me if you need to react like that. Really."

John shook his head. "I don't want you to feel like that again. Ever. I'm going to have to suck it up," he said.

Sherlock laid back down again. "Don't make it about me, John. It's about you. There's no use volunteering for something that makes you uncomfortable. If you don't want to be like that anymore, it's better to try to figure out how to not be uncomfortable than to just be a tough guy and take the bad feelings." He turned on his side. "But what do I know, eh?"

"I don't know what to do, Sherlock. I don't." John wanted to tell him about how he was trying to push those feelings away, but that Sherlock was making it harder. Not on purpose, of course, but it was hard to forget he liked men when he really liked the man he was living with. 

Sherlock didn't look at John. Whatever was going on in John's head was obviously a big deal to him, and Sherlock tried to respect that. "John, I have a feeling what's been discussed tonight hasn't been the whole picture. That's okay, you don't have to tell me everything. But I do wonder if perhaps this has something to do with me, maybe with the way I behave? Am I doing something to make you feel uncomfortable? I seriously doubt you were running around Afghanistan shouting 'We're not a couple' every time you were close to another soldier. If there's something I'm doing that contributes to this discomfort, please let me know and, if I can, I will try to stop." He swallowed and then went quiet. 

John took a deep breath and glanced over at him. "Friends tell secrets, right? Even if they are hard? And might ruin the friendship?" His stomach was flipping wildly at the thought of telling Sherlock what was really going on, but the way things were now it seemed he was going to have to.

Sherlock swallowed again but didn't look up. "You can tell me whatever you want, John, but only if you want to. If you think it might make things better for you, go on. Quite frankly, you've already hurt me today and we got through it, didn't we? So if this is just about worrying about my reaction, don't. Say your secret if you think doing so will make things better for you."

"It probably won't," John sighed. "Never mind. Just forget I said anything." 

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "I won't lie, you've piqued my curiosity a bit. However, I guess perhaps what a good friend should say is that if you don't feel you should talk about it with me, you should maybe find someone else to talk to it about it. As I said, John, now that I understand you've got an 'issue' it won't bother me if you want to downplay our friendship. But whatever's going on, it clearly does bother you so maybe talking to someone else would help." He paused. "And by the way, if your secret has anything to do with George Michael and a public toilet, you should know that won't ruin our friendship. We've all made that mistake," he looked over at John and made a little smile, before lying back down to look at the television, which was now stuck on the DVD menu.


	3. They Talk About It

Fuck it, John thought. He pulled his knees up and hid his face before he started talking. "The reason it bothers me so much is because I _am_ gay. Or bisexual, at least. And I can't be because everyone is going to get mad like they were at Harry. Every time someone mentions it, I get nervous, like they have found me out, and it makes me panic a bit. I overreact. And I keep trying to forget that I'm like that but it's very hard when I have a gorgeous flatmate who I can't stop thinking about." Everything came out a bit muffled and rushed. But it was out now. 

"So you haven't slept with George Michael? I really thought that was going to be it," Sherlock said. He was trying to quickly process all John had said. The most important thing was that this upset John. Whatever Sherlock said now had to be to help John feel better. This was not his strongest skill, but he really had to try.

"Don't be ashamed of who you are. You're John Watson. You're a good man. I think you must know that but . . . I do know that and I'm telling you now, so listen and believe it," Sherlock said. "Don't try to change or forget. Just be whoever you are. Now someone knows and they aren't mad at you. Stop being mad at yourself." He stopped there.

John sighed but didn't look up again. Was that all? It was easier than he expected. But this was Sherlock. What if other people found out? Would it matter? This wasn't school anymore . . . and most people thought they were anyways and no one was being nasty. His mind was racing as he tried to sort out all of these questions. 

"The people who love you, John, already love you. Mrs Hudson isn't going to stop just because you confirm what she already thought. And strangers, like Sebastian, you know what they think doesn't matter. That was about what _you_ think about yourself. Please stop being angry with yourself about it."

Sherlock turned over to lie flat on the couch. He bent his knees up under the blanket and looked at the ceiling. "We should probably talk about the other thing," he said softly. "Do you think you might just be thinking that way about me because I'm different, because I don't act like other men you've been around?"

John waited a long time to answer. "I've seen men that I thought were handsome, but no one I actually wanted to go out with. And you . . . you just caught me so off guard and now -- I don't think another man -- or woman -- is ever going to do."  

That was not what Sherlock was expecting John to say. "Well, I am unusual, I'll give you that. But I'd like you to think more about it. We have an unusual friendship, John. I want you to be sure you're not confusing that with something else." He knew he should sit up and look at John but he couldn't bring himself to do it. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt or feel worse if something were to happen."

His stomach flipped excitedly when Sherlock said something might happen, but he knew better than to get his hopes up like that. "I don't need to think more about it, Sherlock. I know what I am feeling, what I have been from the beginning. All of that . . .love at first sight stuff," John sighed. "When I saw you in the lab I knew something was different -- that if we continued to see each other this might happen. No one had ever done that to me before."

"I have many faults, John, but one thing I am good at is being sure of myself. I know who I am and how I am and I don't let others change that. If something happens that I'm not sure about it -- like being hurt by you this morning -- I will figure it out immediately," Sherlock said. "You, on the other hand, you're a confusing man, John Watson. You knew from the beginning yet you came with me? That doesn't sound like a man who is afraid. But you've said nothing about it. You've had these feelings and said nothing but you also haven't left. And then with other people . . . you seem so afraid of them thinking something that you say is actually true." Sherlock paused for a moment. "I don't want you to be confused or confusing. I don't want to do anything that to contribute to that. I want you to be sure."

"I came anyways because I couldn't help myself. And honestly, I thought maybe it would pass, seeing as you're not interested at all. And I'm not afraid of them thinking it . . . I mean, I am, a bit, but only because I don't know how they'll react. I told you, no one had ever reacted positively to this sort of thing."  

"That's not entirely true, John. I presume your 'not interested at all' comment comes from our conversation at Angelo's. But that happened _after_ you came with me. You didn't come with me thinking it would pass. You came with me before you had any idea about me and my interest in that regards. You also just said if we continued to see each other, 'this' might happen. This, meaning what? Your being uncomfortable all the time? Or does this refer to the conversation we're having? Or were you thinking, if we kept seeing each other, I'd eventually feel the same way you say you do?"

"I stayed even though you said you weren't interested, and yes . . . I thought with time you might feel the same way. Hoped, probably is more accurate. But if you don't, then that's fine, too. I understand. I will deal with this and I won't feel uncomfortable any more. It's fine. It's all . . . fine."

"I can decide how I feel about it, John, I'm perfectly capable of making that decision. Don't say it's all fine until you know it's all fine. No offense, but part of the problem here has been your acting and speaking without thinking. That's what happened this morning, right? So perhaps before you announce that everything is fine, you should have a little think. If I said, John I'm uncomfortable living with you now, would that really be fine with you? If I said, take off your clothes we're going to have sex, you'd be totally fine with that?" Sherlock settled his voice. "You have presented me with information that I need to have a think about. We're going to get up from the sofa now. You are going to make us each a cup of tea and I am going to choose a new film. Then we are going to come back to the sofa and watch the film and while we are doing so, we will also be thinking. Then we can talk about whether it's all fine. All right?" Sherlock sat up now. 

"You're right," John mumbled, finally lifting his head and getting up. "I'm sorry." He went into the kitchen and started the kettle, leaning against the counter as he waited. He was a bit blown away that Sherlock had such a better handle on this than John did, but then Sherlock was always good at being logical and sorting through the facts. John was an emotional, sentimental wreck.

Sherlock stood up and grabbed a DVD. He put it in and sat back down on the sofa, tucking his legs under him and spreading the blanket over him. "Could you do something with the fire? I'm getting cold again, but I always make them go out when I fuss with it."

"Yeah," John said, coming to do that as the water boiled. When the fire roared back to life, he went back to the kitchen to finish. A few minutes later he was back out with tea for both of them.

Sherlock took the tea from John. "Thank you," he said, taking a sip even though it was too hot. "All right then? Should I start the film?"

"Yes," John nodded, doing at his tea. He wondered if this could all be sorted after one film.

"Good. It's gay porn, do you mind?" Sherlock said, looking at the television but not yet pushing play.

John's eyes widened a bit and, assuming that Sherlock was joking, nodded. "Of course. What else would we watch?"

Before pushing play, Sherlock turned to John and said, "Is that what you watch on your laptop at night?"

John shrugged. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"Have you ever done any of that, in real life, or do you just have observational knowledge of the activities?" Sherlock said. He set the remote down and turned on the sofa again, sinking down and bending his knees so he could block John's eye line if he wanted to.

"Just watched," John said, keeping his own eyes on mug. "I told you, no one has ever sparked my interest enough to go that far . . ."

"Until me?" Sherlock said softly. He moved his head so his knees kept him from seeing John and, he hoped, John from seeing him.

"Until you," John said. "I mean . . . not that I just sit around and fantasise about you. Just -- you know."

Sherlock made a little smile but only inside his head, not on his face. He picked up the remote and pushed play. "It's not gay porn. I worried that if you had an erection, you wouldn't be able to think clearly about our situation." Once the film started, he turned on his side to face the television and slid his feet against John's legs as he had done before. "It's a science documentary. I thought it would keep you relatively disinterested."

John flushed lightly but said nothing else, keeping his eyes on the screen. He did however put one hand on Sherlock's ankle again.


	4. They Both Think About It

Sherlock was looking at the film, but he was using the time as he had proposed: to think. He could not deny that how he felt about John was different. For Sherlock, even liking someone as a friend was different; he didn't really do that anymore. Was that all that made John different -- that he genuinely liked him as a friend? Or did he like him in another way?

Unlike John obviously, the issue of gender did not bother Sherlock in the slightest. His issue was being attached, being involved in someone's emotions. He did not think he was very good at that and, as Mycroft had told him many times, caring is a disadvantage. But he knew he already cared about John, even just as a friend, so he dismissed Mycroft's voice in his head as irrelevant to this discussion.

Here is what Sherlock knew: he cared about John. He wanted him to live in the flat with Sherlock, he wanted him to be around, pretty much all the time. He had his feelings hurt when it felt like John had rejected him and he felt guilty when he was unpleasant to John. John's feelings mattered to Sherlock, in a way that no one else's did.

Was that more than friendship? Was that love?

Sherlock decided it probably was. But did that mean he also wanted John? The discussion after the film would also be about sexual desire, not just love. He had had dreams about John, but human beings need sexual release and John was the only person he really interacted with so Sherlock had assumed that's why he had been featuring so prominently in his mind at those times. But perhaps that reasoning was too simplified. Perhaps he did want John. There was pretty much only one way to find out.

He shifted his body slightly. He curled up so his feet were no longer touching John's legs or hand. He moved the blanket so he was completely covered and it bunched up a bit around his shoulders so John could not see his face. Then he closed his eyes.

In his head, he imagined sitting up and moving closer to John on the sofa. He imagined pulling John down so he was lying flat and he imagined lying on top of him. He imagined kissing John's mouth, kissing his neck, losing his fingers into John's hair. He imagined pressing his hips into John's and rocking against him. He imagined hearing John whisper his name into his ear.

And then he realised he was getting an erection.

He wiped the pictures away in his imagination and opened his eyes to stare at the television. He did his best not to move his body in any way, except to keep breathing.

Here is what Sherlock now knew: he cared about John. He loved John. He wanted John. Now he was sure.

John was already lost in thought when Sherlock pulled himself away, so he hardly noticed, let alone wasted time trying to figure out what that meant. When the movie was over they were going to be laying it all out and he needed to organise his thoughts, specifically how he felt about Sherlock.

He was definitely attracted to him, that he knew from the first day he'd met him. And his attraction only grew as he spent more time with him. He was smart and loyal, even funny at times. Had they met in a bar or randomly at the supermarket, John would have asked him on a date. Or would have wanted to at least.

That was all fine. Whether it was love or not, he could figure out later. The thing he needed to work on was how he felt about the situation itself. This wouldn't stay in the flat or between them. It would be out, people would know. Would they be upset? Would it matter? He looked over at Sherlock for a second, all bundled up and staring at the screen, and he couldn't help smiling.

It wouldn't matter. If Sherlock actually felt the same way John would be so happy, he'd shout it from the rooftops. It wouldn't matter what anyone else thought. Just Sherlock. Always Sherlock. He turned back to the telly, now sure of himself and yet more nervous than ever.

Sherlock couldn't decide if the film was going too slowly or too quickly. Eventually it ended. Sherlock turned off the television so the room was dark except for the fire. He sat up on the sofa, his knees bent and still under the blanket. He looked at John and smiled. "Let's talk," he said.

"You start. I've done enough for a bit," John said, turning to face him.

"Cheeky," Sherlock said. "Fine, I'll start. I don't always understand my feelings when I have them. In general, I tend -- not to fight them -- just to move past them. If I don't give them much thought, they seem to dissipate and no harm is done. This is how I've been for much, but not all, of my life. It's easier. I like being alone and on the rare occasion when I actually feel lonely, I find something to distract me until it goes away.

"When I met you, there was a difference. There was something different from the start, wasn't there? I wasn't sure what it was and then things happened, the case and everything, and suddenly we were just a team and that was that. Since you've been here, I've sometimes had what I presumed were feelings about you, but mostly I did not think about them because I didn't want to complicate anything. It's not that it's been hard being friends with you -- if anything, it's been surprisingly easy -- and I didn't want that to change.

"This morning, obviously, something happened and I couldn't deny I was having . . . a feeling. Maybe it was because it was in front of Sebastian, yes, I'm sure that's why it happened, but it upset me. I know I didn't do a very good job hiding it -- even though I did try -- so I tried to figure out what was going on and eventually I feel like we sorted it." He leaned over and took the last sip of his now cold tea. "But then you introduced a new topic which required me to think about my feelings again. Which I have done. And what I have figured out is that I feel similarly."

John listened carefully and then bit his lip. "So . . . right, you do?" He swallowed and then couldn't help grinning. "You do."

"Yes, I do," Sherlock said. "Now you should probably say what you've been thinking."

"Oh yeah," John said. "Well . . . I realised that I don't care what anyone thinks, except you. So if it doesn't make you upset, then I'm fine. I will be fine. I still feel bad about before, and I realise that I was being stupid and I don't want to be. Not anymore."

"I see," Sherlock said. "I would further like to add that it is easy to say one doesn't care about others' opinions when there are no others present, so I would request that if this feeling were to change, you would consult my client, Sherlock Holmes, immediately upon your realisation. Additionally, my client, Sherlock Holmes, has previously petitioned you to no longer feel bad about what happened earlier as he has forgiven you." Sherlock pulled a face at John and pushed his feet against John's legs. "So now what?" he asked in his normal voice.

"Tell your client I'll consider it," John grinned. He put his hand on Sherlock's ankle again. "Want to go out on a date? Maybe tomorrow?" 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Don't get annoyed, though, but I feel like I need to ask how this date would be different than any other time we've had dinner together. I'm not saying I want it to be, I'm just asking if it will be. Actually, I don't think I want it to be different at all. Except that we'll know it's a date." He moved his feet against John. "What do you think? I'd just like to know," he said more quietly.

"I'll request a candle and hold your hand while we wait for dessert," John smiled

"Okay, I can handle that difference," Sherlock said, smiling back at him. He stood up and stretched. "Today has been an interesting day, John Watson. I shall see you tomorrow." He threw the blanket on to John's head and retired to his room.

John laughed and pulled the blanket off. He put the mugs in the sink, shut off the telly, put out the fire and went up to his own bed. An interesting day indeed.


	5. A Date

Sherlock lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling which he could not see because the lights were out. He did not doubt for a minute a single word he had said to John. He meant every one of them or he wouldn't have said them. But he hoped it would all be okay. He hoped John would be okay with the whole gay thing, that others' opinions wouldn't make him feel ashamed. And he hoped that he wouldn't do something to let John down or hurt him in any way. And that he himself would not get hurt. Those were the three things he hoped, even though he knew that hope was a useless concept and that only time would tell what would happen. He rolled over and tried to go to sleep.

John was staring at his own ceiling, playing out all of the possible scenarios of things that could happen now. Being alone seemed to heighten the anxiety of it a bit. He imagined telling Angelo they needed a candle, holding Sherlock's hand at a crime scene, Molly and Mycroft finding out there was more going on -- each of those had several outcomes that he picked through carefully.

When Sherlock woke up, it was still dark so he quietly went to make a cup of tea and get his laptop, which he took back to his room. He read the news online while he drank his tea. He wondered if John was sleeping all right. He wondered if John would regret the conversation they had had last night. Sherlock did not. Eventually he went back to sleep.

John woke up late in the day, having stayed up for far too long. When he did get up he went straight to the kitchen for coffee, still thinking about last night and everything they had talked about.

When Sherlock woke for the second time, it was bright and he could hear John in the kitchen. He checked his phone. He jumped into the shower and dressed. When he saw John, he smiled. John was good. 

"Get dressed," Sherlock said. "Another one was killed last night and we need to go see Dimmock."

"Can I shower first?" John asked, gulping down the last of his coffee and starting on his toast. 

"Of course," Sherlock said. He smiled at him. "Good morning, John."

John paused in his mini rush to smile up at him. "Good morning," he said, and as he passed by towards the bathroom he leaned up and kissed his cheek. He hurried into the bathroom and took a quick shower, running upstairs to change. Twenty minutes later, John was in the sitting room ready to go. 

They headed out. In the cab, Sherlock said, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but let's not hold hands in front of Dimmock. He seems like an arse and let's wait until after our first date before we make any public declarations, yeah? And besides Lestrade would probably be hurt if Dimmock found out before him." He smiled at John and reached over and touched his hand.

"Okay. But if anyone finds out before Mrs Hudson we'll be murdered in our sleep," John smiled. 

"True that," Sherlock said, smiling. "We can give her the happy announcement after our date."

At the Yard, Sherlock's deduction of Dimmock proved correct, but at least he gave them access to the journalist's flat. Through a quite extraordinary twist of fate (in fact when one thinks about it, it was so extraordinary that it was actually rather unbelievable), Sherlock happened to glance at a library book and then dragged John to the library where they found the same symbol that had been painted on the wall at the bank. Wow! What are the chances of the killer, Lukis and John and Sherlock all stumbling upon that before the librarians noticed the paint smell and cleaned it up? On the way back to the flat, they headed to the National Gallery where Sherlock had a quick word with one of his helpers and after a hilariously unlikely encounter between John, a spray paint can, and some Community Support Officers, they started walking to Baker Street.

"Have you decided where you're taking me on our date?" Sherlock said, loosening his scarf and removing his gloves.

"Well, I was thinking Angelo's, but since we always go there, maybe we could try sushi instead? I don't want to be a boring date," John smiled. 

"Let's go to Angelo's," Sherlock said, "for sentimental reasons." He smiled at John. "Straight there or home first?"

"Straight there, if you don't mind. I'm starved." 

They turned the corner to head to the restaurant. Angelo greeted them and set them at the same table they had the first night.

"And a candle, please," John said before he could change his mind. Angelo grinned wide and nearly knocked over a woman in his rush to get one. He put it down on the table, grinned at the both of them, and hurried back to the kitchen. Okay, John thought, first experience went well. That was good news. 

Sherlock smiled at John. "Everything okay in John Watson's head?" he asked.

John nodded. "So far, so good," he said. "Are you going to eat with me?"

"Yes, I'll have something. It would be rude not to. However, don't start thinking this means you can pester me about my eating habits now. Which I guess you do already. But I won't start letting you get away with it just because our relationship has a new name." He looked at the menu but in his head the words all seemed the same. He closed the menu. "You be a gentleman and pick something for me. But nothing too heavy or creamy or tomato-y or cheesy. Or gross. Please. And let's have wine." 

"You just described the whole menu, genius, we're in an Italian restaurant. You can have lasagna, like I will be. And wine sounds good. Be sophisticated and pick one out for us," he smiled. 

Angelo came back to the table, grinning. Sherlock let John order the food and then said to Angelo, "We'd like some red wine. A pretty bottle, please." When Angelo left, Sherlock made a face at John. "What would make you think I could be sophisticated?"

"Your fancy suits, but now I see it was all a ruse to trick me," John said with mock seriousness. 

"I may look grown up on the outside, but I can assure you that inside I am a child and that child likes to make appearances at the most inappropriate of times," Sherlock said. He stuck a straw into his water glass and blew bubbles, just to prove it. "I'm sorry," he then said, "I think I might be a little nervous." He looked over to remind Angelo about the wine. 

"Don't blow bubbles in the wine," John grinned. "And stop talking about your inner child, I feel like a pervert," he teased. 

Sherlock smiled. "I won't be nervous anymore. It's just you, right?" He took a sip of wine. "Are you going to get drunk, do you think?"

"No, I don't think I will," John smiled, sipping at his own wine. "Will you? That won't be very classy for a first date," he teased. 

"We'll see what my inner child fancies doing," Sherlock said. He fiddled with the bread on the table. "Is this the kind of thing you usually do on first dates?"

"What exactly?" John asked. 

"Tell them they're unsophisticated and warn them not to get drunk."

John grinned. "Not exactly, but there is usually some light teasing. It's flirting . . . fun."

"John, I think we have been flirting for a while, don't you?" Sherlock smiled at John, and he suddenly felt like kissing him, but he didn't. However, he hoped he would later.

"Calling me an idiot when I can't deduce what someone had for breakfast does not count," John laughed. 

"Well, that's how Sherlock Holmes flirts, John," Sherlock said. "Are you sure you don't want to back out before anything else happens?"

John nodded. "I'm sure," he smiled. He sipped more wine as their food finally came. He dug in happily, looking up at Sherlock.  

Sherlock picked at the food, eating a few bites. "John, do you think you'll tell Harry about me?"

"She knows about you," John said. "She leaves comments on the blog all the time. But in time, yes, I will tell her you're more than a flatmate to me. More than a friend."

"You don't have to on my account. I just want you to be okay with it all. With yourself." He ate another bite of lasagna.

"I am," John assured him. "I like the positive responses, you know? And with you, I will be okay dealing with any negative ones."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I don't doubt Donovan will have a number of negative ones though less about your being with a man and more about your being with a freak. Are you enjoying your food?"

"I am," he smiled. "This was our perfect first date, you know. Food and murder."

"Your favourite thing and mine," Sherlock smiled. "But let's not talk about work. Is there anything you want to ask me on our first date?"

"Hmm . . . " John thought about that. "Have you thought about us doing this before?"

"Not this, not dinner. I mean, I didn't think about us having lasagna," Sherlock answered.

"What did you think of?" John asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock said, looking down at his wine. "Just other things . . . just . . . don't try to get into my mind, John Watson." He put his silverware on his plate and pushed it to the side. "Let's just leave it at I didn't think about us having lasagna."

John watched him for a moment before nodding. "Okay," he said, going back to his meal. He was curious, but he wasn't going to force him to share if he didn't want to. 

"Weren't you planning on holding my hand at some point?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, while we waited for dessert," John said, looking down at his half eaten lasagna. Angelo always gave so much. "But that might not actually happen." He reached over and laced his fingers into Sherlock's.

"Do you always hold your dates' hands during dessert? Don't do to me what you always do," Sherlock said, moving his fingers against John's. "This is good, but make our date different. Please."

"I never have . . . I'm too nervous for that, usually," John admitted.

Sherlock smiled. "You're less nervous now? Interesting. I suggest you take note of that detail for future reference." He stroked John's fingers. "I'm glad. This has been a good first date, John." 

John smiled. "I'm glad you're having a good time. And of course I'm less nervous. It's you."

"I know it's me, but I'm of the male persuasion and I'm glad you're doing okay with that. If anything comes up, though, you should tell me so we can sort it, yeah?" He sat back in his chair. "So we're skipping dessert? Do you want coffee or tea or are we done here?"

John shook his head. "I'm too full. We should walk home, slowly, so I can properly digest," he said. "Do you want anything?"

"No, I feel very satisfied. A walk would be good," Sherlock flicked his head towards Angelo who came over with the bill. He got out his wallet.

"No, I will," John said quickly, paying before Sherlock could. "I asked you out," he smiled. 

Sherlock put his wallet away. He looked at Angelo and said, "We're on a date. That's why John is paying for mine."

Angelo nodded and smiled. "Haven't you always been on dates?" he asked. 

"No," John said, looking over at Sherlock. "But now we are." 

"I hope he doesn't expect something in return, just because he's paying," he said, smiling at John. "I'm not such a pushover." He turned and looked at Angelo. "The food and wine were wonderful as usual, thanks." He moved his chair back to stand.

John flushed lightly but thanked Angelo as well, getting up and following Sherlock out. On the sidewalk, he took Sherlock's hand again as they walked.  

The air was crisp but felt good on Sherlock's face, which felt a little flushed, probably from the wine though he certainly wasn't drunk. It felt nice having John's hand in his. When they got back to the flat, he said, "Let's stop and have a word with Mrs Hudson."

"Okay," John said, feeling better about the already positive response. John knocked on her door and gripped Sherlock's hand a bit tighter when she answered the door. 

"Oh, hello. What's going on?"

"John has something to tell you," Sherlock said, squeezing his hand.

Mrs Hudson looked at John, a bit worried. 

"Oh. Um . . . we're -- we've just come home from a date," John said. "I mean, we're dating now."

Mrs Hudson's expression changed to confusion. "But . . . weren't you already?"

John sighed and smiled lightly. "No, Mrs Hudson, but we are now."

"Oh!" she smiled and hugged them both. "Great. That's so great!"

"Yes, it is," Sherlock said. "Now if you'll stop bothering us, we'd like to end our date in privacy." He turned and started to pull John upstairs. Then he looked back and asked, "Did the so-called man fix our heating today?" he asked her.

"Oh Sherlock," she said, waving her hand at him. "Yes, the heating's fixed. Enjoy the end of your date. Keep the noise down!" she said, shutting the door on them.

"Don't tell people that part," John said, following him up the stairs. "That's our thing -- the private things."

"Hmm. . . 'private' things . . .what exactly do you have in mind, John Watson?" Sherlock said as he entered the flat and hung up his coat. "It was just because it was Mrs Hudson. I like to tease her. Don't worry, John, I am normally quite discreet." He touched John's shoulder as he went to the kitchen to make tea.

"Well . . .Angelo too," John mumbled, following him into the kitchen. "And you're the one with something in mind, I think."

"All right, you got me. I apologise," Sherlock said. "Should I blame the wine? Or nerves?" He picked up the mugs and motioned to John to join him in the sitting room. "I'm sorry, John. I won't do that anymore." He took a sip of tea. "Have I ruined our date? I hope I haven't." He took another sip. "I don't have anything in mind. Not really. Our date can end now and I will be very satisfied. I'm sorry for teasing," he said sincerely.

"I don't mind the teasing," John smiled. "The date is not ruined. Not at all." He sipped at his tea and looked up at him again. "Does . . . does the end of the date have anything to do with what you were thinking about?"

"Stop trying to get inside my head," Sherlock said smiling. "But, John, I do have a question though. Is the date going to ever end? Like, snap, now it's over and we just happen to live in the same flat and things are like they were until we go out on another date?" Sherlock's voice was light, but the question was a serious one. "I don't have a grasp of how 'dating' works in general, but since we live together, it's even more complicated. You've already seen me in my pajamas. I'm guessing that's not the case with most of your dates. So what is is going to be like?"

John shrugged. "To be honest with you, I don't know. I'm just figuring it out as we go. I'm not going to move out so I can date you," he smiled. 

"Hmm . . . I prefer having an idea, but I guess we'll just have to see what happens. No, don't move out. You should definitely stay," Sherlock said. He drank more of his tea and sat quietly for a bit. "Well, I think I'll go off to bed now." He stood up.

John stood up quickly and hesitated. "Um . . . before . . . before you go," he said, wringing his hands a bit nervously. "Usually at the end of a date I'll -- you know, walk my date to the door and . . . maybe kiss them, if they want."  

Sherlock looked up. "Fine, you can walk me to my door." He headed towards his bedroom. John followed. Before opening it, Sherlock turned and leaned against it, waiting.

"Well, come down a bit," John mumbled, leaning up a bit and trying to pull him down. He pressed his lips to Sherlock's, lightly and just a for couple seconds before pulling away. "Good night," he said quietly, stepping back and moving for the sitting room again. 

As John stepped away, Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him towards him once more. He leaned down and gave him one more kiss, this one a little longer, a little harder. He pulled back and said, "Good night," and disappeared into his room.


	6. Sherlock Wants To Talk About Something Else

John didn't take a proper breath until he was in the sitting room again. He was hot and flustered. He put their mugs in the sink and shut off all the lights before heading up to his room. He still wondered what Sherlock had been thinking about, and if it was what he was thinking right now.

Sherlock immediately slipped off his clothes and got into the bed. He didn't look at his phone. This had been a good day and a better evening and he didn't want anything to change that. He shut off the lights and turned on his side. He thought of John's face, which he had memorised at dinner. He thought of all of John's different faces: his thinking face, his eating one, his laughing one, his flushing face. He liked all of them.

He rolled over onto his back and looked at the ceiling. He thought of John kissing him. And him kissing John. He wanted to get up and go into John's room and kiss him again and again but he didn't. But he wanted to.

John lay awake for a long time again, his mind replaying the kiss over and over, each time ending it differently. He was getting a bit over excited so he had to stop. How long did they have to wait before they could kiss all the time? Like before John left for work or when Sherlock said something clever or when they got up in the morning? Could they do that now? He smiled at the thought and tried to go to sleep. It was very difficult. 

When Sherlock woke up, he had an erection. He closed his eyes again, trying to remember if he had had a dream. He couldn't remember. He slid his hand under the covers and thought of John. It felt different this time, thinking of John while doing this. Because what he was thinking _could_ happen now, whereas before he thought it was just something that would stay in his head. He quietly stroked himself, keeping his breath in check. When he came, he was also quiet but for the first time, he really wished he could turn his head and see John's face on the pillow next to him. He got up, showered and got dressed. He checked his phone and went up to John's room to knock on the door.

"John? Let's go to Chinatown." He stayed standing outside John's door.

John jumped awake at the sound, feeling like it was much too early to be awake. What time did he fall asleep? He looked down at his pants and flushed lightly. Had that happened while he was sleeping? He covered up and opened the door. "What? What time is it?"

"It's seven o'clock. Do you want me to go on my own?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I . . . I just need a shower," he said. "I can meet you if you're in a hurry," he offered.

"Of course, I'll wait," he said as he leaned and gave John a soft kiss on the mouth. "I'll put the kettle on," he said and headed down to the kitchen.

John bit his lip and smiled, grabbing fresh clothes and heading to the shower. He balled up his dirty pants and threw them out, but after his shower decided to use the trash in his room instead. When he was ready he went to the kitchen. "Has something new happened then?"

"We need to figure out what connects Lukis and Van Coon. The address in Lukis' datebook might help. Did you sleep well?" he asked, pushing the cup of tea towards John.

"I . . . yeah, it was alright." He still couldn't remember his dream. "You?"

"Very satisfying," Sherlock said. "Shall we go?"

They left Baker Street and ran around London, finding clues and getting into hijinks. They each took turns being a smart arse and then exasperating and being exasperated by the other.

Back at the flat, Sherlock pasted all the elements to the wall and spent a good amount of time staring at them. Eventually he sat down on the sofa and turned off the case in his head. He put his feet on the table.

"Are we going on a date tonight, John?" he asked, fiddling with a pen in his hand.

"Are you asking me if you can ask me out on a date?" John smiled.

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "You're the alpha dog in our little pack, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock grinned and rested his hand on his thigh.

"No," John laughed. "You can ask me out, too. And yes, I'd love to go."

"Actually, I think I'm too tired to go out. Will it still be a date if we order in?" Sherlock said.

"Yes, a quiet night in can still be a date," John said.

"I don't remember saying anything about a quiet night," Sherlock said under his breath as he stood up. "What kind of food do you want?" He reached for the menus stashed on the side table. "I genuinely do not care so you choose. Do I have to be dressed up for a not-going-out-date? Do I have to be dressed at all or can I put my pajamas on?" He yawned a little bit but stifled it.

"You can wear whatever you want," John smiled. "Pajamas sound nice. We can both wear that."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Saucy," he said. "I'm going to rinse off and change. You order the food, here's my card. I'll be done in time to give you the chance to change before the food arrives." He set his card on the table and gave John a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing into his room. He felt a little bit gross from the running and the attack at Soo Lin's. The shower made him feel cleaner and more relaxed and he slipped into a new t-shirt and his pajama bottoms but grabbed his dressing gown, remembering how cold he had got last night. 

John ordered the food before running up to change, putting on his flannel pajama pants and a long sleeve t-shirt. He came back down and paced while he waited for the food to arrive. When it did, he set it up on the coffee table. 

When Sherlock came in, he snuggled up on the sofa, grabbing the blanket to cover his feet. "This looks nice," he said to John. "Thanks. What did you get me?"

"Your usual Chinese request," John smiled, opening his own box of lo mein. He turned on the telly and found a random movie for the background.

Sherlock lifted his hand up. "No, no movies tonight. I don't want to watch telly on our date." He took a few bites of his food.

"Oh, okay," John said, turning the telly off. He turned on the sofa to face Sherlock. "What do you want to do?"

"Let's talk," Sherlock said. "How was your day?"

"Well, quite exciting, I'd say. Chasing criminals, breaking into flats . . . you know, the usual," John smiled. "Yours?"

"Mine was surprisingly similar," Sherlock said. "So you've never had sex with a man before?"

John flushed and almost choked at how suddenly that came out. "I told you I haven't," he said. "Have you?"

"I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind," Sherlock said, setting his plate back on the table. "Are you thinking that at some point I might be the first man you have sex with? I'm not asking in a legally binding way, of course. Your answer at the moment does not have to be your answer forever."

"Yes. Unless you break up with me before that, and then it'll be some stranger in my attempt to heal my heart break." He couldn't believe they were talking about this.

"Interesting. That surprises me a bit. The second part of your answer, I mean. Can I advise against that? Firstly I don't plan on breaking up with you before or after we might have sex and secondly, that kind of sex rarely heals a broken heart. I think you already know from experience it doesn't work like that. Don't think that doing it with a man would make any difference." Sherlock looked up. "Did you make tea?"

"I was kidding, first of all," John said. "And no I didn't, I'm sorry."

Sherlock stood up. "No need to apologise, you took care of everything else. I'll make it, you finish eating." He moved to the kitchen and flipped the kettle on. He called, "Are you anxious about the possibility of our having sex?" He went to the fridge to get the milk. 

John threw a glance at the kitchen and wished he'd changed the subject. "Yes . . . I'm nervous," he admitted.

Sherlock poured the tea into a pot and brought in two mugs and the milk. He set it all on the coffee table. "Would you say your anxiety is based more on the fact that you'll be having a sex with a man than it is on the fact that it'll be with me?"

"Both," John said, sipping on his tea.

"Fair enough," Sherlock said, taking a drink. "I am a bit nervous myself. I presume that is natural. When I am saying the phrase 'having sex' what exactly does that mean to you?"

"Well . . . it can only mean one thing, Sherlock."

"I'm afraid you're wrong there, John," Sherlock said looking directly at him. "It can mean many, many things."

"Not really, unless you want me to go into . . . specific positions," he said, flushing darker. He really didn't want to.

"John, you genuinely surprise me. I really did not have you down as . . . well, no matter. You've answered my question, I suppose." He looked away from John, even though he did quite like the look of John's flushed face. But he wasn't trying to make John feel uncomfortable. "You don't have to answer the next question if you don't want to. In fact, you don't have to answer any of these questions. But I'll ask anyway. Have you imagined us having sex?"

John felt his face flush even darker and he was cursing his body for reacting without his consent. He didn't answer that one, taking more sips of his tea.

Sherlock noted John's silence. "Fair enough," he said. "I'd like to tell you that I have imagined it. In fact, I am even prepared to tell you that the first time I imagined was long before last night's conversation. And I'd like you to know that I . . . I am . . . open-minded about . . . the details of it." Sherlock was trying to be discreet but worried he was too vague. 

Sherlock was going to give John a heart attack. Despite that, he couldn't help asking, "What details?"

"I mean, I am open-minded to any preference you might have. Say, if you were interested in doing something similar to things you have done with others or if you would like me to do something new to you." Sherlock decided that was as far as he wanted to go with that particular explanation. He said, "Changing the subject slightly, I would like to invite you to sleep in my bed this evening."

Oh. He meant . . . yes, John had thought of both several times and was open-minded as well. But they could talk about that when the time came. "In your bed? Um . . . yeah," he nodded, thinking it over. "That would be nice."

Sherlock smiled. "Good, I am glad. I suppose this may be a bit forward of me since this is technically only our second date, but I think our unusual circumstances will allow it." He swallowed some tea. "I think that may conclude my questions for the evening. Are there any you'd like to ask me?"

"I asked one before . . ." John remind him, looking at him over his mug.

"True, you did. I will answer it, but before I do, will you ask yourself if you really want the answer to that question? Once you've decided, let me know," Sherlock said.

"I do," John said almost immediately. He'd wondered this before, and he'd feel better if Sherlock knew what he was doing, whatever ended up happening later.

"Then the answer is I have," Sherlock said.

"Which way do you prefer?" John asked shyly.

"Do you mean men or women?"

"Have you been with men and women?" John asked surprised.

"I'm assuming since you've asked that you do indeed want the answer. Which is yes."

"Okay. I meant position before, like top or bottom . . . but now I want to know that, too. Which do you prefer for both?"

"I think you and I might be very different in this regard," Sherlock said. "I don't have preferences in the way I think you are asking. Everything is different every time, John. You and I have never had sex so how would I know which one I prefer with you? I suppose we shall see. At some point. Any other questions?"

"Well -- in general," John said. "You don't have a preference? Even secretly?"

"No, John, I really don't. If it turns out I do with you, you will be the first to know. I promise."

John nodded and sipped more tea. "What are you expecting tonight?"

"Goodness me, John, your word choice is telling this evening," Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. "I am not _expecting_ anything. I may have something in mind, but we'll see how that goes, shall we?"

"Tell me, please?" John wondered what exactly was so telling about his words. What did Sherlock see?

John was so lovely, Sherlock thought, with his face and nerves and questions. He stood up and carried the mugs and tea pot to the kitchen sink. He came back and bent down in front of John's chair. "I have in mind that I'd like to have sex with you tonight. Not in the way you mean but in one of the many ways I mean. We don't have to. I am going to go get in my bed now. I would like it if you joined me. But again, you do not have to." He stood up and kissed John's forehead lightly. And then he walked to his bedroom.

John gnawed at his lip nervously and wondered what exactly Sherlock meant. _One of his ways?_ Did he mean just a quick handjob or blowjob? His stomach flipped nervously as he thought about sucking Sherlock's cock. He had imagined it before, but if he went into that room that could very well happen. Was he ready for that? The heat in his belly was saying yes, so he tried to go by that instead of his over thinking mind. Maybe he meant something else . . . something John had never heard of before. He rolled his eyes at himself for thinking something so stupid. Just because Sherlock was more experienced than John had anticipated did not mean that he was going to do some weird sex games. Everything would be fine. He got up finally and made his way to Sherlock's room, going inside a bit hesitantly and climbing into his bed. 


	7. Sherlock Talks John Through One Of The Many Ways

Sherlock had already turned off the bedroom lamp. He turned over and faced John. "I have something I'd like to tell you," he said and waited for John to look at him. He went on, "Your coming in here does not make you obliged to do anything other than sleep in my bed, and, of course, if you change your mind about wanting to do that, you are free to leave, without any questions from me and without my feelings being hurt. Do you understand what I'm saying? Nothing happens in this room tonight unless you want it to, okay?"

"I know," John nodded. "I'm a bit more nervous than I originally thought, but I want to be here. I promise. If I change my mind I will let you know, okay?"

"Please do," Sherlock said. He put his hand on John's cheek. "I'd like to kiss you now. That's it. Just one kiss. Okay?"

"Yes," John nodded, coming a bit closer. "That's okay."

Sherlock shifted back just a little. "No touching except for this hand." He leaned in and put his mouth on John's. It started off a soft kiss, Sherlock's lips open but gentle against John's. Then he pressed in a little harder, his tongue sneaking in to find John's. His hand held John's cheek, tilting his head just a little. He held the kiss, held it, and then pulled back when he was sure he'd left his taste on John's mouth. He dropped his hand from John's face and lay on his back. "Will you take your shirt off, please?" He sat up and took off his own.

Sherlock tasted wonderful. John kept his hands to himself, unsure if the touching rule applied to him as well. Everything about the kiss was so good and he didn't want it to end. Ever. But of course it had to and when Sherlock pulled away, he almost moved forward for another one. Quietly he pulled his t-shirt over his head and turned to look at Sherlock again.

"Lie on your back, John," he said softly. "Nothing is going to happen tonight that hasn't already happened to you. Nothing new, not really. Mainly, I'd like you to listen to my voice and do what I suggest, but only if you want to. If you're not sure you want to, I'd like you to stop for a minute and remember that it's me, Sherlock, and that I will take care of you. If you still don't want to, then tell me and we'll stop. Okay?"

"This isn't some weird sex game, is it?" John asked, feeling really nervous about the way he kept explaining everything. "I trust you," he added afterwards. He'd try anything for Sherlock. 

"No, this isn't a weird sex game. If you want weird sex games, you'll have to wait for the third date." Sherlock lay down on his back next to John, but not touching him. "You are obviously curious about what I like and I want to know what you like as well. But it's hard to describe it while we're sitting drinking our tea and it's hard to know what we'll like together since we've not been together yet," Sherlock's voice was soft but clear. "So let's find out what we like. Close your eyes and take a deep breath -- a proper one, not the kind that people pretend to do when someone is telling them to relax. Take a proper deep breath, close your eyes and listen to my voice. Okay?"

John sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay," he said. "Can I hold your hand?"

"In a minute you can, okay? You should also know that everything I ask you to do, I'll do as well," Sherlock said, taking a slightly exaggerated deep breath so that John could hear him. He closed his eyes as well.

"Let's imagine that tonight we drank wine instead of tea. We're not drunk, our heads are clear, but perhaps the wine has helped lower our inhibitions just a little. Somehow we have found ourselves in bed together and we're both feeling a little bit . . . horny. Get that picture very clear in your mind," Sherlock paused for a moment so he too could imagine the scene. "Now for real, put your hands on your head, John. Move them slowly around, put your fingers in your hair." Sherlock did the same. "Does that make the slightly drunk you in your head more horny, less or does it make little difference to how he's feeling?"

"I'm indifferent to my hair being touched," John said, wondering if he would feel differently if those were Sherlock's fingers in his hair. He pictured Sherlock doing it while they were making out, or maybe guiding John down to his cock. He bit his lip and tried to think about only what Sherlock was telling him. 

Sherlock smiled. "I can tell you, John, that the slightly drunk Sherlock in my head is feeling quite a bit more horny having fingers in his hair." Sherlock noticed his pulse increase just a little. "Remember, in your head we are in bed together. Imagine they're my hands, John, even though you know they're not. Now John, move your hands to your ears and then your neck and throat.  How does slightly drunk John feel about that?" 

"He doesn't like hands there, but he likes lips there," John said, imagining Sherlock's mouth nibbling at his earlobe, kissing and licking his neck, leaving marks behind . . . and he imagined himself doing the same thing to Sherlock and he liked that as well. He shifted a bit and sighed happily. 

"Slightly drunk Sherlock also wishes it were a mouth on his ears rather than a hand," Sherlock said. "Put your hands on your chest now, John. I've seen you with your shirt off already, John, and even though I've never said anything, you are quite sexy shirtless. Move your hands across the muscles on your chest, move them over your nipples. Does slightly drunk John like that?"

John's breathing shallowed a bit. "Yes, he likes that a lot," he said quietly. "Does drunk Sherlock like that?"

"Slightly drunk Sherlock likes the thought of touching your chest, but is indifferent to his being touched, I think." Sherlock stopped talking for just a minute to imagine the scene he was creating for John. "John, listen carefully now. I can feel myself getting a little bit hard. I mean right now, in reality, although slightly drunk Sherlock is probably getting an erection as well. Is this going to be a problem? Should I keep going? Be honest. I'd like to keep talking but I'll stop and calm myself down if you want me to."

"I . . . I'm getting hard as well," John admitted. "But don't stop, okay?"

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "Move your hands to hips now, John. Run them across your belly, but don't touch your cock. Even accidentally. Do a long, soft stroke from one hip to another. With one hand grip your hip a little, so you can feel the bone. What's slightly drunk John's reaction?"

"He's getting a bit anxious with all of this teasing," John sighed. He tried very hard not to touch his erection, tenting his pajamas a bit now. 

"Tell him to relax. I think he'll like what's going to happen. Slightly drunk Sherlock's cock is aching now, John, so I reckon he might be rather keen on that hip stuff." Sherlock took another deep breath. "Take off your pajamas, John." Sherlock quickly slipped his off as well. He slid one hand to his cock, which was really aching -- in his hand and in his mind. "Hold your cock in one hand, John. Start moving your hand. Are you doing it slow or fast? Soft or hard? Slightly drunk Sherlock's hand is moving slowly and softly right now." Sherlock's hand moved slowly and softly over his cock.

John took off his pajamas and slipped his hand into his pants, wrapping his fingers around himself tightly and stroking slowly. "I'm doing it hard but slow . . . " John said, trying to focus on making the words come out even and normal, not like a moan. 

"How long do you think slightly drunk John might like it like that?" Sherlock said, his hand still moving slowly but his grip tightening just a little.

"He's so worked up already, soon he'll have to go faster," John murmured. "He'll want more." 

"Then give him more, John. Go faster. My hand is moving faster and harder, John, can you feel the way my body's moving the bed next to you? My hand's moving all the way up and down. Does slightly drunk John like what's being done to him right now?"

"Yes," John nodded, his hand moving faster now. He slid his pants down a bit so he could move easier. He didn't even think about Sherlock seeing him, in his feel-good haze. 

"Separate your legs a bit. Rock your hips with your hand's movement. Does slightly drunk John find that beneficial?" Sherlock began to rock his hips. "I think . . . slightly drunk Sherlock quite likes doing that," he said, smiling at everything that was happening. Sherlock reached over and held John's free hand. "John," Sherlock's voice was almost a pant now, "if I'm honest, I think slightly drunk Sherlock is going to come very soon. Would slightly drunk John mind if he did?"

John gripped his hand tightly. "He's . . . John's close,too," he said, finding it a bit odd that he was using his own name like that. "Will you . . .will you kiss me? When we finish?" he asked quietly, wondering if that was too much for now. 

"Yes, I will kiss you, John. Imagine being kissed right now." Sherlock pictured slightly drunk John and slightly drunk Sherlock fumbling in his bed. He imagined John's hand on him, his hand on John. He imagined their hips rocking into each other, their chests pressed together, the skin warm and damp with sweat. He imagined them kissing. His hand moved quickly on his cock, his hips lifted him slightly off the bed. He couldn't find words. He felt his legs start to tense. As the tension moved to the rest of his body, he squeezed John's hand tightly and his mouth opened and the word "John" came from his throat almost like a cry and Sherlock came into his hand. His body froze and then released and he sunk into the bed, dropping his wet hand onto his belly but still holding John's in his other one.

John gripped his hand. He'd wanted a real kiss, in real life, but now it was too late. He listened to Sherlock beside him and his stomach flipped wildly as heat flooded into his groin. He swore softly, bucked up, and came onto his hand and stomach, whispering Sherlock's name over and over until the orgasm passed. He kept his eyes closed and his hand tight around Sherlock's.  

They lay there for a moment, each of their bodies recovering. Then Sherlock reached for his t-shirt, leaned over and wiped it across John's belly and hand. He cleaned up himself and then threw the shirt on the floor. He turned to John, licked John's lips softly and then sunk into his mouth, kissing him as if they were lifelong lovers who had just met again after a month apart. He put his hand to John's face and let his fingers move over John's skin and up into his hair. And then he pulled away and lay down on his back next to John.

John moaned into the kiss, arching against him and curling his fingers against his chest. The kiss left him feeling even more light headed, and when he lay back flat again he was still panting softly. "I've never done that before," he said quietly. "I mean with someone else. Like that." 

"I've never done that without anyone else either," Sherlock said softly. He turned towards John and held his hand. "I'm glad you like kissing, it was something that was missing, wasn't it?" His fingers stroked John's. "How do you feel?"

"Good," John smiled turning to face him as well. "You spin stories like that and then make fun of me romanticising on the blog," he teased quietly. 

"Shh," Sherlock said. "It's time for sleep now. I am spent like I just had sex because, John, I just did. We did. I will remember this as the first time we had sex. In this way. There will be other times in other ways, I hope. There are many ways for us, John, and I hope we find them all," his voice sounded sleepier with each word. "Turn over now and let me spoon you."

John flushed lightly and turned his back to Sherlock, pressing up against him. "I think I know what you mean now," he mumbled before closing his own eyes. 

"Good," Sherlock whispered. "So far we've done quite well with our new relationship, I think." He held John's hands against his stomach and softly kissed his shoulder. "Good night, John. I'll still feel the same way about you in the morning."

"Me too," he murmured. "Good night." And seconds after that he was out, snoring softly. 


	8. The Words Boyfriend, Idiot, And Genius

When Sherlock woke up, he was pleased to roll over and see John sleeping beside him. He touched John's hair and said his name softly.

"Hmm . . .. " John hummed, taking a deep breath and blinking his eyes open. Oh yeah. He smiled as his eyes settled on Sherlock. 

"I still feel the same," Sherlock said. He touched John's face awkwardly but then rested his hand on John's shoulder.

"I do too," John nodded. He reached up for Sherlock's hand and just held it. 

Sherlock said, "You sure? I hope so." He stretched his legs a bit. "Dimmock's bringing those boxes of books over so that's likely to take up most of the morning. I don't entirely feel like getting up though."

"Well, let's just get up when he gets here. I like laying here, too," John said. 

"Is this how we're going to be now, lazy? We won't be earning much money if all we do is lie around all day," Sherlock said, not making a single move to get up. "However, I don't want us to greet Dimmock while we're both in our pajamas." He reached over for his phone and rang Dimmock. After hanging up, he said to John. "The boxes will be here in an hour and a half. It appears to actually be quite early in the morning, which is strange as I feel quite awake. Do you want to go back to sleep for a bit?"

John shook his head. "I can't fall asleep now anyways. But that's okay because I feel very well rested."

"Having sex with a man seems to have done you some good," Sherlock said smiling.

John flushed but smiled. "Yes, I suppose so," he said. 

"You should have started years ago, just think how much more productive your life would have been," Sherlock said. He pushed John's arm a little, turning over away from him and then said, "Rub my back, please." 

John scooted closer and started to massage his shoulders, smiling softly. "If I had started years ago someone would have been waiting for me after the war and I never would have met you."

"I would have found you, John," Sherlock said softly, enjoying John's touch. "I don't have any doubt about that."

"Hmm . . . are you saying fate would have brought you to me?" John smiled, kneading lower. "Then again, you live so dangerously I could have easily seen you at a hospital . . . you would need a doctor after all."

Sherlock laughed. "It's much more likely you'd have come to me to find out if your so-called lovelorn boyfriend had shacked up with someone while you were away." He closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his back into John's hands. "Would you say you're the jealous type?"

"Yeah," John admitted. "Are you?" He sort of knew the answer already -- or he thought he did -- but he asked anyways.

"I don't know, probably, maybe," Sherlock said, "I don't know. Probably. Do you think jealousy is going to be a problem for us?"

"I hope not," John said. "Surely you know that you needn't worry about problems with me."

Sherlock turned over. "Here, roll over and I'll rub you so we can be equal."

"Okay," John said, turning around and scooting a bit closer. 

Sherlock moved his hands into the muscles of John's shoulders. "You really are quite muscular, John. You hide it well." John's skin was soft, but underneath the muscles were hard. "You have some scars," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "I know," he said. He hummed softly as Sherlock rubbed the muscles. 

"Do you want me to avoid touching them?" Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "They don't hurt. I don't mind."

Sherlock let his hands move freely over John's back. "Bodies with scars are more interesting," he said softly. He put a small kiss on the back of John's neck. "You know at some point we'll have to eat dinner here, I mean, no takeaway, just normal food. Does that mean it'll be a day without a date?" He kept his mouth against John's neck so as he spoke, his lips moved against John's skin. 

"Everything is a date now," John smiled, shivering lightly. "You're my boyfriend now."

"I see," Sherlock said slowly. "Don't you have to _ask_ me to be your boyfriend or is that what just happens by default after two dates? Or after what happened last night?"

"After what happened last night," John said. "Don't you want to be my boyfriend?"

"I'm not saying I do or don't," Sherlock said. "I'm just saying you really should have had me sign something beforehand." Sherlock hadn't really been thinking of being anyone's boyfriend, though in fairness, he didn't have a problem with John calling him that.

John smiled. "Shall I have your brother write up a contract, then?" 

"I'm surprised he hasn't already forced you into signing one of some kind. Listen, I guess I wasn't quite prepared for this -- it's fine, really -- but there probably are a few things we need to go over if we're going to be 'boyfriends'." As Sherlock said the final word, he moved his hand to make an air quote in front of John's face. 

"What kinds of things?" John asked, turning to face him now. 

"Well, tea in the morning for one thing, which means you've already failed as my boyfriend," Sherlock said, smiling.

"I'm your boyfriend, not your maid," John grinned. 

"Interestingly I do find some similarities between the two job positions," Sherlock said. "Well, what about untying my shoes for me? Don't tell me that's not part of the deal? John, my legs are very long and it's difficult to reach them. Are you saying you don't care enough about me to do that?"

"I will not be untying your shoes, Sherlock," John smiled. "I will . . . let you keep body parts in the fridge, and massage your back after a long day, and kiss you whenever you want."

"Should I get this in writing?" Sherlock said, lifting one of John's hands to his mouth to kiss it. "And what am I obliged to do for you as your so-called boyfriend?"

John smiled. "Whatever you would like to do," he said. "It's a relationship, not a job."

Sherlock said, "You know I am teasing you, John. Words like this have never been all that important to me, but I feel like they are to you. I'm happy for us to be boyfriends." He sucked on one of John's fingers and then pushed the hand back to John's chest. "It's time to get up now, lazybones."

John sighed and nodded. "If you insist," he said. He got up and stretched, putting on his pajamas again. "I suppose real clothes are in order. I'll go get dressed," he said.  

"Fine, I'm going to shower," Sherlock headed to the bathroom and called, "If you find the book we're looking for, I will reward you in a way that only a boyfriend can." 

John smiled and started the kettle, and halfway through the boxes started coming. And coming. And by the time John had poured the tea he could hardly move through the sitting room. He sighed and got to work, trying to find the books they both had. He was making a little stack, the words not making any sense to him, but he left them for Sherlock to look through as well. And he continued looking. 

Sherlock rushed when he could hear the boxes being brought in. John was already sorting through them. "Tea?" he asked and picked up his mug when John motioned to the kitchen. He surveyed the room. 

"Are you finding many duplicates? They didn't seem so alike, I doubt they'd have similar tastes in books," Sherlock took a sip of tea and walked over to the stack John had made for him. He started flipping to each one's page 15 but found no joy. 

"Not very many are the same," he said, still digging. As he looked through, he found a London A to Z and tossed it aside. "Why would someone who lives here have this book?" he asked, continuing to look. 

"We've got one, you idiot, and we live here," Sherlock said, throwing the book back at him. "I've always presumed they're compulsory." He took another drink and said, "John, have they both got one? I'll check, you check page fifteen." He started pulling books out of the boxes marked Van Coon.

Sherlock pulled John to the table and they each used the book to decode half of the cipher.

"Genius, John," Sherlock said. "You call Dimmock, you figured it out."

John flushed with pride and called the detective, telling him what they had just figured out. He assured John that police were being sent to the circus, and they shouldn't worry. He'd send someone for the books as soon as he could. John got off the phone and relayed all of this to Sherlock. "And you're the one that solved it, I nearly tossed the book out," he smiled. 

"John, don't be modest," Sherlock said. "How many books have you picked up this morning? Why did you comment on that one?" Sherlock shifted some of the boxes out of the way so there was a bit more room. "I like my boyfriends to be clever, you know."

"Then we really are in trouble," John grinned. "My boyfriend calls me an idiot on a regular basis," he teased. 

"I told you, that's how I flirt. It's my pet name for you," Sherlock said. "Did you deposit Sebastian's cheque?"

"No," John shook his head. "I think it's still in my coat. But I don't want to. I'll tear it up," he said. 

"Don't be an id-- . . . don't tear it up. Why not take his money? You've solved it, didn't you? And he owes us more. You've got a boyfriend to look after now John, you can't be so cavalier about being paid." Sherlock threw a pillow at John.

John grabbed the pillow, faked a throw at his legs and then threw it at his face. He laughed loudly. "I thought you didn't want me to take that," he said.  

"It had nothing to do with your taking the money. I didn't like the way he was treating me. Especially after your insistence on . . . you-know-what. I don't care about the money but we have it and why should we give it back? If you feel funny about it, use it to by me a present," he rubbed his head where the pillow hit it. "That reminds me, do you have condoms in the flat?"

"Upstairs in my bedside table drawer," John nodded. "And I will buy you a present, as soon as I figure out what to get."

"And . . . any . . . lubrication of any sort in your beside table drawer?" Sherlock said, not looking at John's reaction.

John flushed lightly but nodded. "There's . . . some, I think," he said. 

"I see," Sherlock said, now looking straight at him. "Don't waste the money on a present." He stood up and stretched. "Now what?"

"I will buy you a present," John insisted. "And I think now . . .you owe me a kiss or something, because . . . well, you did say I'd get a reward," he smiled. 

"I don't remember saying that. Was it the other night when I was drunk?" Sherlock said smiling. "I'll give you a reward but you'll have to take your clothes off first," he said cheekily.

"You said it just before you got into the shower!" John laughed. "And I will not do that here -- anyone could walk in!"

"Lock the door then, my god, John, I thought you were a genius!" Sherlock said. "I've been flirting with you all morning trying to get you to strip off! How more obvious do I have to be?"

"And if they come for the books once I have everything off?" John asked, shutting the door and locking it. It took a bit longer with all of these boxes around. 

"Then you'll put your dressing gown on and answer the door. This isn't rocket science, John. You've solved their case, I doubt they care if you go around your own flat in the altogether."

John sighed and tugged at his t-shirt. "Are you taking something off?" he asked, setting it on his chair and fingering his undershirt. This was much more exposed than a dark bed, even though they were doing more intimate things last night. 

"John!" Sherlock shouted. "It's like ten o'clock in the morning! Are you some kind of sex pest or something? I was teasing you." But then he walked to John and bent over to lick from his neck to one of his nipples, which he sucked into his mouth. He stood up and looked down at John. "How about I meet you in your room? I'll go tell Mrs Hudson to sort the box stuff if they show up in the next hour or so. I'll tell her we had a late night and are napping. That's all. It'll be fine. Sound okay?"

John flushed at his comment and was about to put his shirt back on when Sherlock's mouth was on him. He shivered lightly and then, as soon as he could, he put his shirt back on. "You have to get better at teasing, I think," he grumbled. "We don't have to go up -- I just thought . . . the way you said it . . ." 

Sherlock put his hands on John's shoulders. "I'm sorry, John, perhaps I should get better at teasing. I only call you an idiot because I know with my next breath I'll be calling you a genius," Sherlock fiddled with the buttons on John's shirt. "I do want to go upstairs with you, John, I do. Let me go down and have a word with Mrs Hudson. I won't say anything inappropriate. Then we can go in your room and lock the door and maybe do something some might call inappropriate. Please?" He leaned down and kissed John's mouth softly.

"I don't care about the idiot thing," John said between kisses. "Just don't tell me to take my clothes off and then make fun of me for doing it." He felt so silly for saying that but he couldn't help it. "You know what you do to me," he smiled, kissing him harder.

"You're not an idiot. I'm sorry for teasing the way I do," Sherlock said in between kisses. "Listen, let's not stand here when we could be upstairs. Would you rather we call Dimmock and tell him when to come over or do you feel okay about having Mrs Hudson be in charge of it? It's up to you. Either way, but let's decide because I would very much like to take our clothes off."

"We can leave Mrs Hudson in charge," John said. "I'll wait for you upstairs, okay?" John kissed him one more time and hurried up to his room. He wondered if he should wait for Sherlock but then decided to surprise him, so he took off his clothes and sat on the bed in just his pants, waiting.

"Good," Sherlock dashed downstairs and had a chat with Mrs Hudson. He did his best to control his face so when he talked about the nap, she didn't think they were up to anything else. He might have even thrown in something about both of them feeling a bit poorly. He felt bad John hadn't liked his teasing and he definitely didn't want John thinking he was talking to someone about their private activities, since that was the other thing he'd done that John hadn't liked. It seemed like she bought the story and Sherlock went back to the flat.


	9. They Try Another Way

He found John sitting in his pants on his bed. He locked the door. Sherlock took off his clothes and sat next to him. "Now what?" he said to John.

"Kiss me again?" John asked, turning to face him and leaning forward. He had no idea what Sherlock had planned, but you couldn't go wrong with kissing.

"Would it be too forward to ask if we could get in the bed first? I'm freezing," Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "It is a bit cold," he admitted, moving so they could get under the covers. John turned to face Sherlock and scooted closer to him, reaching out and touching his cheek.

"You kiss me," Sherlock said, looking into John's eyes.

"Okay," John said, closing the space between them. He pressed his lips lightly to Sherlock's at first, then readjusted and pressed a bit harder, his fingers curling up into his hair.

Sherlock relaxed into John's kiss, letting his lips part but not doing anything but responding to John's movement on his mouth.

When Sherlock's lips parted, John pushed his tongue forward, tasting Sherlock, humming softly. He loved the way they fit together, loved that Sherlock enjoyed doing things like this with him. It made him wonder what scared him so much before. 

John felt comfortable in the kiss which made Sherlock feel nice. He lifted a hand to hold John's and leaned just a little more closely into him. 

John shifted, making his leg touch Sherlock's as he deepened the kiss. His free hand came to rest on Sherlock's chest, his fingers moving lightly over the soft skin.

The touching of skin warmed Sherlock. Strange, Sherlock didn't really like touching but John was different: he wanted John's hands on him. The kiss was becoming harder and wetter. Sherlock moved into it, turning his head slightly.

John slid his hand down the top of Sherlock's back and tugged him closer, propping himself up a bit to hover over him, wanting more contact. The skin already touching was like fire and it was intoxicating. He breathed through his nose so he wouldn't have to pull away.

Sherlock wanted to wait for John, let John make the decisions this time, but he couldn't help moving his legs a little, tangling them with John's. He just wanted to be closer.

John properly climbed on top on Sherlock, moaning softly as he settled into place. He moved his lips to Sherlock's neck, kissing and sucking softly.

John's weight felt good on Sherlock, like John was claiming him, like he belonged to John. Which felt nice though surprising. He tipped his head giving John easier access to his neck. He moved his hands lightly on John's back.

John continued downwards, sucking red marks into his skin, holding Sherlock's ribs.

Sherlock exhaled a small moan. "John," he whispered. One hand moved to John's hair and the other gripped his shoulder. He relaxed his whole body, letting it sink into John's bed.

"Hmm," John mumbled, kissing his shoulder and across his chest to start on the other side.

Sherlock closed his eyes so he couldn't see John move, so he could anticipate instead. He could feel an urge start in his belly, but he keep breathing deeply and slowly, allowing him to concentrate on everything that John was doing.

When John made it up to Sherlock's ear he murmured, "I'm running out of room," and he moved to press his lips the Sherlock's chest instead, kissing random spots.

"Do whatever you want, John," Sherlock said softly. "It all feels good." He smiled and closed his eyes again.

John started leaving marks on his chest, caressing his sides as he moved down to his stomach. He was so gorgeous, every part of him. He knew if he went any lower he'd have to remove Sherlock's pants. Would he put his mouth down there? Eventually, of course, but now he got nervous and headed upwards again.

Sherlock made soft noises at everyone of John's kisses. His chest lifted slightly as if John were pulling all of him into his mouth. He wished he could lie here all day being taken care of like this. John was so good to him.

When John got back up to Sherlock's neck, he sighed and relaxed on top of him. He wanted to make Sherlock happy, to make him feel good, and he knew what the next step was. He pictured it in his head, imagined himself doing it and made up his mind. He sat up and scooted down again, running his fingers over the elastic of his pants.

"John," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes closed. "What are you thinking of doing?"

"Putting you in my mouth," he said quietly, still running a finger on the elastic. His face felt hot. 

Sherlock reached down and touched John, but he kept his head faced towards the ceiling with his eyes closed. "You don't have to, you know. You don't have. We can use our hands now, if you'd like to do that instead."

John put his hand on Sherlock and palmed him gently. "I want to want to," he said, flushing as he felt the length in his hand. 

"I only want you to do things you want to do," Sherlock said softly. "It's important, that. I mean it. We have all the time in the world, John. We have plenty of time." He stroked John's hair.

"Maybe just my hand this time," he mumbled, pulling his pants down enough to wrap his fingers around Sherlock. 

Sherlock breathed out quickly at John's touch, "John." He lifted his hips a bit to help John take off his pants. "Remember last night?"

John nodded. He gripped Sherlock and stroked. "I remember . . ."

"Slow and soft first, yeah?" Sherlock said quietly. "Do you want to move beside me so I can touch you as well?"

John loosened his fingers immediately, barely grazing Sherlock. "Okay," he nodded, climbing off of him and laying down beside him. 

Sherlock turned to face John. First he leaned his face close to John's and whispered, "Kiss me." When John did, Sherlock moved his hand down to John's cock, holding it tightly, and he began to stroke him slowly. He slipped his tongue into John's mouth.

John moaned into the kiss, pressing into it as he focused on slow and soft movements. 

Sherlock slid from John's mouth and said, "John, that feels good. It's just right." His pulse was speeding up and his skin was flushed. He kept a steady rhythm on John's cock.

John nodded. "It does . . . feel great," he panted softly, looking down at their hands, at Sherlock's beautiful hand on him. 

Sherlock's swiped over John's tip and then moved back, gripping just a little harder. He leaned in again for another kiss, taking John's mouth even more passionately.

John couldn't help pausing for a moment, lost in the kiss. When he remembered what he was doing he sped up a bit as if to catch up.  

"Yes," Sherlock moaned softly. He moved his own hand a little faster. He could feel his hips start to rock and he shifted his legs a little. He let his head fall back on to the pillow and he closed his eyes again.

John looked up to the marks on Sherlock's skin and sighed heavily, bucking forward lightly. The speed felt so good but he wanted a bit more. He squeezed Sherlock a bit harder as he stroked him. "Harder . . . please . . ."

Sherlock held John more tightly. "Like this?" Sherlock said, almost panting now.

"Ah -- yes," John nodded. "Sherlock," he moaned, swallowing hard. 

"John, god, you're so sexy," Sherlock moaned. He found John's reactions as exciting as the pleasure John's hand was bringing him. He put his mouth against John's head, breathing into his hair.

"Christ," John moaned, each hot breath on his hair sending a pulse of pleasure though his body. He was panting heavier now, his hand moving faster. 

"John, I'm not going to be able to take much more," Sherlock huffed in between rough breaths. "Is that okay?"

John nodded quickly. "Me neither," he mumbled, forcing himself to look down again. He fixed his gaze on Sherlock's cock, imagined it in his mouth again, now that it was leaking. He bit his lip hard. 

Sherlock's hand moved faster. Swiping over the tip of John's cock, his hand spread the wetness and he held him tightly. His hips bucked harder and he groaned loudly. "John," he called out and his hips pushed hard against John's. His cock jerked, coming into John's hand and all over their bellies.

John watched the spurts and flushed when he realised that could have been in his mouth. But the idea only fueled the heat in his belly and before he could warn Sherlock he was coming, groaning and writhing as the waves coursed though him. 

Sherlock held John through his orgasm and then squeezed his arms around John. Their chests moved against each other, their skin was damp from sweat and come. "We've made a mess," Sherlock said softly and then he laughed stupidly, almost coughing since he hadn't quite caught his breath yet. He kissed John's ear.

John panted out a breathless laugh. "I know," he sighed. He almost swiped some on his finger to try, but then chickened out. Next time. There was always next time. Like Sherlock said, they had plenty of time. 

Sherlock kissed John again and then moved his head sharply. "Shhh, I think they're here." They both looked at the door and could hear the shuffling of feet and boxes and Mrs Hudson's voice, though Sherlock couldn't tell what she was saying. Sherlock whispered, "The police are in our house and we're in your bed. Naked. And sticky." He smiled hard but tried not to laugh.

John bit his lip as he grinned. "Shut up. If the door opens I am shoving you to the floor," he teased. 

"I locked it, don't worry," Sherlock said. "I promise. I told you it'd be okay and it will be." He kissed John softly until they heard everyone leave the flat. "See? I told you."

John kissed him back. "I was teasing," he said between kisses. 

"I know," Sherlock said. "I can tell by the wetness on my stomach that you'd never kick me out of bed." He pinched John's arm softly.

John laughed and swatted his arm. "Don't tempt me!" 

Sherlock sat up and grabbed his t-shirt. He wiped himself up and offered it to John. "I'm sleepy now," he said as he lay back down.

John nodded as he cleaned himself up. "You can take a nap, I won't mind."

"What are you doing to do? I want to do what you do."

"I'll lay with you. Maybe pet your hair while you sleep."

"Okay, I guess," Sherlock said. He snuggled against John. "Will you at least close your eyes?"

"Maybe," John said, petting his hair slowly. 

Sherlock closed his eyes. Then he opened one and said, "Don't pull a prank on me while I'm asleep. Promise?"

John chuckled softly. "I don't promise anything," he said. "You just have to trust me."

"Hmmm," Sherlock pressed against John. "Don't be mean, please."

"I'll try," John smiled, kissing the top of his head as he pet gently. 

"I trust you," Sherlock said, snuggling his head against John's chest. He tipped his chin and kissed John's skin. He felt himself drifting off.

"I'll try not to draw on your face," he teased, grinning into his hair. 

"Shh," Sherlock said. His arms around John went soft and he fell to sleep.

John considered drawing something small on him, but that would involve moving and he really didn't want to. He pet Sherlock's hair and thought about all the kinds of things they would do together -- not just sexually but in general as well. Would he meet Sherlock's parents? Should he take Sherlock to his mum's? Would they hold hands at crime scenes? Would he put this in his blog? He thought up scenes for each of them, passing the time while Sherlock slept.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, John was looking at him. In a groggy voice, he said, "Did you even try to nap with me?"

"I told you I would lay with you," John smiled. "Sleep alright?"

"I did," Sherlock said, stretching his arms around John and tangling their legs. "How long did I sleep? Were you mean to me at all?"

"I thought about it but you just looked so peaceful," John smiled. "It's almost two hours."

Sherlock squeezed John. "What's the plan for the rest of the day then?"

"Hmm . . . do you feel like leaving the flat?"

"I already got my way today. I want you to choose. Besides I just woke up and I notice there's no tea here waiting for me, so I've got to invest my energy in pouting, not planning," Sherlock said, pecking a kiss on John's chest.

"How can I make you tea while you're got me all tangled up like this?" John laughed. "And I say a shower is in order as your t-shirt did a terrible job off properly cleaning us off."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow at John. "Do you think two people will fit at once? Or were you suggesting separate showers?" He did not untangle from John.

"We could try," John shrugged.

"All right then," Sherlock said. He pulled away from John and stretched. He put his trousers and shirt on and grabbed the rest of his clothes. "I'll meet you there," he said as he headed to his room to get clean clothes.


	10. And Another Way

John stretched as well, not getting clothes but grabbing his dressing gown instead. He could just change afterwards. He went to the bathroom and started the shower, setting the water temperature.

Sherlock came in. "I like it quite hot," he said as he took off his clothes and chucked them on the floor. He stood behind John and wrapped his arms around him while he fiddled with the water. "Your dressing gown is warm," he said wiggling against the thick material. "Are you naked under there?" He pulled on the belt so it fell open. 

"Yes," John said, flushing when it feel open, even after everything. "How's the water feel?" 

Sherlock leaned over John and stuck his arm in. "That's okay," Sherlock said. "I'm a little worried one of us is going to end up cold and I'm a little worried it's going to be you since I'm taller. Let's try though." He stepped into the water.

"I'll be fine," John said, putting his robe over the closed toilet and climbing in with him.

"You're naked," Sherlock said, stepping back just a little to let the water hit John.

John gasped dramatically. "I forgot my shower suit!" He grinned. The water felt good.

"Hand me the soap and I'll wash your back," Sherlock said. He was trying to position himself in a way that let the water hit both of them.

"Okay," John said, handing him the soap and turning around.

Sherlock lathered up John's back, rubbing his shoulders and occasionally palming the back of his neck and letting his fingers slide through John's hair. He dipped his other hand down to John's lower back and occasionally sliding it across John's arse cheeks. "If you put some shampoo in your hair, I'll wash it for you," he said.

John put some shampoo in his hand, and started the lathering before Sherlock took over. John hummed softly and closed his eyes.

Sherlock scrubbed John's head and then switched to a softer rub. He did this a few times. "You're pretty," he said, turning John around and kissing him. The water started to come down John's face so Sherlock said, "Tip your head back so you don't get soap in your pretty eyes." He rubbed his head to get the shampoo out. Then he kissed John's mouth again and slid his arms around him.

John smiled into the kiss, holding Sherlock's waist. "You know . . . I don't think I want to go back to normal showers," he murmured between kisses. 

"Perhaps we could work out an arrangement: tea when I wake up in exchange for hair washing?" Sherlock slid his hands down John's body. "I'll wash your front now." 

John pulled a thinking face before smiling and nodding. "It's a deal," he agreed. 

"Good," Sherlock said. He slid his hand down John's belly and wrapped his fingers around John's cock, washing it. "Now rinse and you can do me." He grabbed the shampoo and scrubbed his head quickly over John as he was rinsing.

John rinsed off and poured the body wash in his hands, running them all over Sherlock's back and arms and sides, working up a nice lather. 

"And how about my front?" Sherlock said. "That's where you made your mess, after all."

John grinned and turned him around, taking his time to rub over his belly, moving down to his thighs and then up to his chest. He swiped over Sherlock's cock a couple times before moving him under the water. "There," he smiled. 

"John," Sherlock said. "I have an idea but you don't have to do it if you don't want to." He swallowed. "We can't be in here too much longer but before we get out, maybe we could try . . . maybe this might be a way you could try . . . with your mouth. I could do it to you first. I don't mean . . . I'm just saying it might be easier to try it here, just to see what it's like. Can I show you what I mean? If you let me do it to you first, you can decide if you want to try it on me. What do you think?"

John bit his lip and nodded. "We can try it here. Um . . . I can go first if you want. It doesn't matter . . ."

"Let me go first so I can show you what I mean," Sherlock bent down and got on his knees. He kissed John's belly. The water dripped down between John's skin and his lips. Then he moved down to John's cock. He didn't touch it with his hands. He put a few small kisses on it and then licked a stripe from the tip to where it met John's abdomen. Then he lowered his head and put his lips around just the tip. He swirled his tongue and sucked softly. Then he opened his mouth, kissed it again and stood up. "That's it, just to try it. What do you think? You don't have to," he kissed John's forehead.

John shuddered out a hard breath and nodded. "I can do that," he said, turning them so they switched spots. John got down on his knees and mimicked Sherlock's movements exactly. He kissed Sherlock's stomach, he placed kisses on it randomly (which wasn't so bad), and then licked upwards. He looked up at Sherlock, angled it towards his mouth, and sucked the head into his mouth and swirled over the tip. Then he changed it up a bit and sucked a couple inches into his mouth before pulling off. He didn't get up yet.  

Sherlock had kept looking straight forward to avoid making John feel self-conscious but now he looked down. "Okay?" he asked.

John nodded. "Want more?" he asked quietly, staying on his knees. 

"I kind of do," Sherlock said. "It felt fucking fantastic. I'm getting hard thinking about it, though, so it's going to be a little different. Do it only if you want to and you can stop at any time."

John bit his lip and nodded. "I do want to. Um . . . is it going to taste bad?" he asked. He'd seen women swallow it before, and he'd been kissed afterwards, but he doubted that would be the same as getting it directly. 

"I don't know if you'll think it tastes bad. I've not eaten anything strange and, thanks to your nagging, I've not been smoking. Everyone is different. I don't think it tastes bad. But you don't have to swallow it -- we're in the shower, it won't make a mess. Or we can stop before then. Whatever you want, John."

"Okay. Just let me know before . . ." he said, and then he sucked Sherlock back into his mouth, just a bit at a time. He knew he'd taste the precome anyways, so he could just work up to the rest. He bobbed back and forth, trying to imitate what women have done to him before. 

"Hold on," Sherlock said. He stepped back for a minute, sliding himself out of John's mouth and looked down at him. "Look at me for a second," he said softly, the water making his hair fall over his face. "Don't think about things that have already happened. This isn't like anything else because it's you and me. Don't think about getting me off. Think more about exploring, checking it out but with your mouth instead of your hand. Okay?"

John nodded. "Right, sorry," he said. That was a good way to think about it. When Sherlock came close again and John put him into his mouth again, he moved more naturally. He did little experiments, like flicking his tongue over the tip, swirling his tongue along the bottom, and testing himself to see how deep he could actually take Sherlock. 

Sherlock lifted his hand to John's head, resting it in his hair, just to connect. "Mmm, John, god, that feels good, it's . . . good." He closed his eyes and looked up into the water for a minute before looking back at John. "Your mouth . . ." he moaned softly.

John continued what he was doing, stroking what he couldn't fit yet. Precome dripped onto his tongue and it was different, but not terrible. He swiped the tip before continuing to bob back and forth. 

"John, John," Sherlock said quickly, "I'm close, just . . . at the tip, just keep your mouth there," he dropped his hand and started stroking himself. As soon as he felt John's tongue at the tip, he said, "I'm going to come, John."

John did as Sherlock asked, sucking the tip, and then pulling off and replacing Sherlock's hand with his own, stroking quickly. He looked up at Sherlock as he did.

Sherlock looked down, watching John, until his eyes instinctively closed and his hips jerked. His fingers pulled John's hair a little and he came, water running into his open mouth.

John bit his lip and watched, his hand stroking Sherlock's through it all. He looked gorgeous. 

Sherlock panted, "John, fuck, you okay? That was very, very good." He looked down and laughed a little, trying to catch his breath.

John grinned up and nodded. "I'm okay, yeah," he said. He stood up and bit his lip. "Easier than I thought," he admitted. 

"Are you sure you've never done that before? Fuck," he said, pulling John to him. "I'm sorry I didn't last very long."

"I swear. I just followed your advice," he said. "And I suppose that is a compliment," he smiled. "I don't mind."

"It was most definitely a compliment," Sherlock said, smiling. "Now let's get out of here, I'm freezing." Sherlock stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

John turned off the water and grabbed his own towel, drying off before getting out and putting his dressing gown on again. 

Sherlock said, "Come here" and pulled John to him, giving his a long, passionate kiss. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," he smiled. "I'm just glad you like it."

"I did indeed," Sherlock said, now putting on his clothes. "Though it's made me a little sleepy again. Being your boyfriend is very tiring. I've slept more in the last few days than I have in weeks."

John grinned. "Good. Now I know how to make you sleep."

"You're the one who looks ready for bed," Sherlock said, flicking a towel at him. "Aren't you getting dressed?" 

"Look who's talking," John laughed. "Maybe I just want my dressing gown today."

"Outrageous," Sherlock said, smiling. "I need tea." He ran his hands through his hair and then went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle.

John followed him to the kitchen and pulled out two mugs. "You don't want me to make it?"

"No, I'm perfectly capable. It's just nice when I first wake up. I don't feel capable then," Sherlock smiled at John. "Do you want me to make you something to eat?"

"Maybe later," John said. "I'm alright for now."

"The offer may not be available later," Sherlock said. "My generosity may be blowjob-inspired. Later, I may be back to my usual selfish self." He carried the tea into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa.

"Well, then I will never suck you off again. I can't have it affecting you so drastically. I'm used to you now."

"Don't say 'suck you off', it sounds crude," Sherlock put his feet on the table and took a sip of tea. "Did you feel crude doing it?"

"No, but what else would I say? Sucking your cock?" He thought for a moment. "What about . . . tongue cradling you?" He burst out laughing and hid his face in Sherlock's arm. 

"Just say blowjob or using your mouth or just stop talking about it if you're going to be childish," Sherlock said, pinching John's arm softly. "Goodness me, is this how you're going to behave after every new sexual experience?" He made a face at John. "I think I prefer sexy John to goofy John."

"Shut up," John laughed, sitting up again. "I'm still sexy. I'm just really happy," he said, flopping his head back on the sofa and looking over at him. 

"Well, now I'm worried: if giving a blowjob makes you this happy, getting one will push you right over the edge of sanity." He pulled John towards him and kissed his head. "I'm glad you're happy, John."

"Don't tease me," he pouted playfully. "I just . . . I was so worried, for so long. And it's easy -- it's nothing like I was led to believe it would be. Not just the tongue cradling," he chuckled. "All of it."

Sherlock pinched John when he said 'tongue cradling' and then asked, "How were you led to believe it would be? What 'it' are you talking about anyway -- being with a man or being with me?"

"Being with a man," he said. "All the negativity about it that I grew up with . . . I don't know. It's not dirty and it doesn't feel sinful," he shrugged. "It feels good. Right. I don't know. Don't listen to me." 

Sherlock smiled. "This is the most sense you've talked in the last fifteen minutes so don't tell me not to listen to you. It should only feel good, John, all of it. If anything doesn't -- I'm not just talking about sex stuff -- _anything_ , we'll need to sort it. I cause you enough hassle when we're working together. I don't want our relationship to be like that as well. Okay?"

"What hassle?" John asked, sipping at his tea. "And that goes both ways, Sherlock, okay?"

"Once you recover from your 'I just gave my first blow job' giddiness, you'll remember all the times I've frustrated you while we're on cases. I'm not likely to stop that, I'm afraid. But don't let me frustrate you at home. Or at least let me know when -- if I do. I'll be happy to let you know if you frustrate me -- to be fair, I kind of have mentioned the tea when I wake up thing about ten times already . . ." he smiled.

John sighed dramatically before grinning. "Perhaps what you thought was frustrating, I found sexy and flirty," he teased.

"Oh my god, John, let me get a recorder, because you are really going to regret those words once you settle down!" Sherlock pulled John towards him so his head was in his lap. Sherlock looked down at him and stroked his hair. "You are the sexy one, John. Look at your pretty face," he used his finger to trace John's lips. "I like it."

John kissed his finger and smiled. This was really nice. "It's true! Maybe I only looked frustrated because I was confused," he smiled. "I had a crush on you."

"Shut your cute face," Sherlock said. "I don't believe you. You've done nothing but chase women since we met!"

"Because I was confused! You have to believe me!" John said dramatically.

"I don't believe you, but it doesn't matter because you don't have to chase anyone anymore," he put his finger on John's mouth. "Shhh, now. I think silly John needs a nap so he stops talking rubbish."

"I'm not silly, I'm sexy," John said, and he turned to face Sherlock's stomach.

"You are," Sherlock said stroking his cheek. "I'm surprised I didn't notice sooner."

John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's stomach and sighed. "Maybe just a little nap."

"We need to get on the same nap schedule," Sherlock said quietly. He moved his hand to John's back and rubbed it. "Go to sleep for a bit."

"I wasn't tired before," he mumbled. "Tired now." The back rub felt good.

"I might be able to help make you more tired," Sherlock said quietly.

John smiled softly. "Are you going to talk to me about ash?"

"That hurts, John," Sherlock said. "Let me lie down next to you." He shifted John a bit, squeezing himself in between John and the back of the sofa. "Let's lie tops to tails." He put his hands on John's legs and said, "Scoot yourself down." He untied his dressing gown belt but kept John's body covered. He pressed his face through the opening and started lightly kissing John's soft cock.

"Oh," John hummed in surprise. He gripped Sherlock's leg and tried to look down, his own head near Sherlock's crotch. "Are we both doing it?"

"No," Sherlock said. "Just me. I'm making you sleepy because you solved a case, refused to get dressed and should probably have a nap. I don't know why I find those three traits so alluring, but I do." He starting licking John, long licks all the way up and then quick flicks across.

John pressed his face into Sherlock's thigh, eyes closed as he focused on the feel of his mouth and tongue.

Sherlock lifted John's cock with his hand and slid it into his mouth. He pressed his lips against it and dragged his tongue. He could feel it getting harder in his mouth, which was very sexy. He moved up and down it slowly.

Everything about this was so sexy. The fact that John wasn't wearing any clothes, the way they were laying opposite, the fact that they were on the sofa -- all of it. John moaned softly as he felt heat pooling in his groin, felt himself getting harder. 

Sherlock let saliva gather in his mouth and he spread it over John's cock. He let John slip out and stroked him hard and slow with his hand as he kissed around John's thighs and swiped his tongue across his balls. Then he took John back in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the tip.

"Sherlock," John moaned, gripping his leg a bit harder. He was so good down there, all his little tricks. Hopefully he made Sherlock feel this good too, but he could worry about that later.

Sherlock shifted his body a little, he could feel his own cock getting hard and pressing against his trousers. He took John all the way down his throat before quickly moving his head back before he gagged. He repeated this a few times before using his hand on him again while he caught his breath. Then he took him in again, each time being able to hold him in a little longer. He could taste John now. He loved doing this to John.

"Christ," John breathed, feeling himself in that deep. It was incredible.

Sherlock pulled off again and used his hands for a few minutes. "Do you like this?" he whispered. He wanted to hear John's voice.

"Yes . . . you're so good," John moaned softly. "Feels good . . ."

Sherlock kept his hand moving, hard but slow, on John's cock as he kissed and licked John's thighs again. He slid his other hand down John's leg, squeezing the muscles. He tipped John's cock back into his mouth and used the tip of his tongue inside his mouth to draw lines up and down it. Then he bobbed his head, keeping his mouth loose and swallowing him down a few times. Then he licked the tip and said, "I want to make you come."

"Close," John panted. "'M'close . . ." All the different things happening were too much -- fantastic, of course, but so many different sensations. He writhed lightly, squirming as the heat built.

"Tell me what to do," Sherlock said, still moving his hand. "Tell me what you want."

"Swallow," John said a bit thickly. "Swallow like before . . ."

Sherlock swallowed John down. He couldn't hold him there very long, but he did his best to go quickly -- swallowing, coming up for air and going back down. He got into a rhythm and slipped his other hand to hold John's balls. He tried to listen for John's noises through the noises he himself was making.

"Fuck . . .yes," John moaned. "I'm coming, Sherlock . . ."

Sherlock stopped moving and let John fill his mouth before swallowing it down. He gripped John's leg and reached his other hand to squeeze John's. He stayed there through his orgasm and then pulled off and leaned his head back against the sofa, catching his breath. "God, John, you're so sexy," he exhaled.

Sherlock had swallowed around him and it had been the sexiest thing. He vowed he would get to that some day as he panted to catch his breath now. "You are so sexy yourself," he breathed, rubbing his hand with his thumb.

"Are you sleepy now? Is it nap time again?" Sherlock smiled.

"Yes," John smiled. "Can I lay on your lap again?"

"Yes," he said, sitting up and adjusting himself. "Just give me a minute to relax a little." He smiled at John and kind leaned a bit against the arm of the sofa, just in case he wanted to sleep as well. "Okay, come here."

John smiled and moved over to him, laying his head on his thigh again and turning to his stomach. He closed his eyes and started to doze off. "I could take care of that," he murmured, resting his hand on Sherlock's hardness.

"I don't doubt you could," Sherlock said. "But don't. It's good to sometimes just feel the want. Go to sleep, John Watson." He stroked John's hair and then rubbed his back.

With Sherlock's hand rubbing his back again, it didn't take long. He dozed off and was soon snoring softly, forehead dropping onto Sherlock's stomach again. 

Sherlock watched John sleep. He touched his hair softly. Then he looked up and around the flat: it was different now, it was their flat in a different way than it had been theirs last week. He wondered about what else would change, if everything would change, if he would be okay with everything changing. If John would. He leaned his head against the sofa, not sure if he could sleep like that. He closed his eyes, though, and thought about the things that had happened in the last few days and about how he was pretty sure he loved John.


	11. The Word Love

John slept for a little over an hour. When he woke up he almost forgot where he was. But he smelled Sherlock and he smiled, turning onto his back and looking up at him. He was comfortable here. He remembered their conversation before and bit his lip. "I think I still feel a bit silly," he said. 

"You were supposed to sleep it off, Dr Watson," Sherlock said, smiling and yawning as he watched John wake up.

"There's no cure, Sherlock. What if . . . I'm permanently silly?" John said with mock worry. 

"I guess I'll just have to keep doing things to keep you sleepy," he rubbed his jaw, mocking injury. "Maybe I should just drug you."

John laughed. "Don't do any of that. You like silly John because he makes you laugh," he said. 

"You're right," Sherlock said softly. "I like all the Johns." He stroked John's face and hair. Then he looked up at the ceiling and laughed. "Dammit, John, I feel like making out with you again. We are never going to get anything done if it stays like this. Stop being so lovely."

John waited until Sherlock looked down before licking his lips. "I can't help it, Sherlock. You have to accept me for who I am."

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said, putting his hand over John's face. "I'm thinking you might be illegally lovely. I think this might constitute a crime -- you're kind of holding me hostage."

John continued to laugh. "Stop making me feel bad. You say such nice things to me and I just come at you with 'tongue cradling'. It's not fair!" 

"I bet you never expected that I was so sweet, did you?" Sherlock said. "I hide it well."

"I didn't," John admitted. "But you are sweet. You're the lovely one. Romantic. Sexy. The whole package," he smiled. 

"Yet . . . not good enough to make tea in the morning for. Hmmm . . ." Sherlock said, pinching John's arm.

"Shut up! I haven't even gotten a chance yet!" John laughed. "Don't pinch me."

"Why do you think I keep napping all the time -- to give you a chance! But you've not taken me up on it. Well, that speaks volumes now, doesn't it?"

"You said in the morning! Not every time you close your eyes!"

"I said when I woke up! See, now you don't even listen to me when I talk! We're falling apart, John!" He covered his face with his hands, smiling even as he pretended to weep.

"Stop! You said in the morning!" John protested, hugging Sherlock and pressing his face into his belly. 

"Whatever. If you loved me, you'd know what I meant. But you obviously don't. You are just using me for sexual favours."

"I do love you," John said, the words muffled into his stomach. And then he realised what he'd said. Just like that. He kept his face hidden in Sherlock's stomach, wondering what he was going to do or say. 

"John," Sherlock said. He said it like a sentence, not a start of one. Then he said quietly, "You don't have to say that. I was just teasing you."

John bit his lip. "I know . . .but it's true." 

"You should be sure. That kind of stuff takes time, doesn't it? You should know. You don't seem like the type to say it so soon. Is this just silly John talking?"

John shook his head. "I've known you for a long time . . . that plays a part, too." He kept fighting the urge to apologise. Apologising would make it seem like he'd said something wrong. 

"Okay, I believe you," Sherlock said. "If I say it, will you believe me?"

John nodded, looking up at him now. Was he serious?

"Remember the night we watched the horrible film you picked and talked about stuff for the first time? I knew then. I knew I loved you before I knew . . . about the sex stuff. Love came first," Sherlock's face flushed and he looked out the window.

John sat up and climbed into Sherlock's lap, still sitting sideways, and wrapped his arms around his neck. "That's not the only reason I love you, you know that, right?"

"I know," Sherlock said, pressing his face into John's shoulder. "I can't . . . I don't really know how . . . I've never said it before."

"You don't have to," John said quietly.

"I want to say it to you."

John met his gaze and nodded, realising he was actually holding his breath. 

Sherlock was a grown man, he knew that. It was stupid to feel awkward about this, he knew that. He put his mouth to John's ear and said, "I love John Watson." It was honest. He hoped that would do. For now.

John bit his lip lightly and turned his head slightly so his own mouth was closer to Sherlock's. "I love you, too, Sherlock."

Sherlock pressed his mouth against John's. He did love John. It was feeling; he wasn't always good with those, but it was true. He kissed John softly, like someone in love. His hands slipped to the back of John's head and he held it. "Don't leave me, John," he said into the kiss.

"Where on earth would I go?" he asked quietly, kissing Sherlock back gently. 

"I don't know," Sherlock said softly. He pulled back and lowered his head to John's chest. He put his ear against it and listened to John's heartbeat. He moved his hands to John's back and pressed John to him.

John bit his lip and hung his arms on Sherlock's shoulders, petting his hair gently. 

Eventually Sherlock leaned back and dropped his arms. "Where'd silly John go, anyway?" he said, a little awkwardly.

"He's sitting over in my chair for a bit while the adults talk," John smiled. "Shall I call him back?"  
  
Sherlock smiled. "Yes, please," he said.

John grinned and shifted to lay his head on Sherlock's lap again. "You keep demanding tea from me but I have yet to receive my side of the bargain."

"What was that again? I wasn't listening at the time," Sherlock said, matching John's grin.

"A massage, I think? I don't remember. And I'm slightly offended!"

"I massaged you the entire time you were asleep! An hour, John, an hour massage . . . not a single cup of tea," Sherlock said. "I'll give you a massage but let's get on a bed instead. To be fair, I'm the one who needs a massage -- I've been in the same damn position for almost two hours and I'm feeling quite stiff." He raised his eyebrows. 

"First of all, if that's how we're going to play this then I made you six cups of tea while you slept. Shame you missed them, really, they were my best yet. Second, I like laying on your lap. And third, I offered to take care of your 'stiffness' and you said no." John grinned and turned to face his stomach again. 

"And fourth, take me into the bedroom, take off my clothes and lie beside me. Please," Sherlock said.

John sighed dramatically and got up, hauling Sherlock up into his arms. He wasn't too heavy, exactly, but he was tall and John felt unbalanced.

"John, please put me down," Sherlock said. "Just hold my hand and take me in -- dropping me and breaking my neck is really going to kill the mood, you fool." He held out his hand for John to take and smiled at him.

"Oh," John set him down and took his hand. "I wanted to be romantic . . ."

"I know, but dangerous isn't always romantic," he smiled at John. "Lead me into your room now."

John smiled and took his hand, leading him up the stairs. "With both of us taking naps we'll never get to sleep at night," he pointed out. 

"I'm not incredibly worried about that, John," Sherlock said. "Staying up all night doesn't bother me, though I think you are forgetting that we now both know tricks to help the other fall asleep."

John grinned wider. "I was hoping you'd say that." He knew it was Sherlock making him feel this way, wanting it all the time like some kind of teenager. He liked it. He felt young again. 

Once they got into John's room, Sherlock stood by the end of the bed. "Will you take off my clothes now and get me ready for my nap?" For some reason, he wanted John to look after him right now, to put him to bed and hold him. 

John shut the door and stood in front of him, nodding. He unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt, slowly slid it off and then started in his trousers. "What exactly do you want me to do?" he murmured. 

"You're not dressed, so I don't want to be either. Put me in your bed and spoon me until we fall asleep. Make me feel safe so I have good dreams," Sherlock said softly. He hadn't thought about what he was going to say before he said it and that's probably why it came surprisingly straight forward and honest. 

The words surprised John. John slipped off his pants as well and helped him into bed. He took off his robe and climbed in. He gently pushed Sherlock to face away from him, pressed up against him, wrapped an arm tight around his waist and then pressed his forehead between his shoulders. "I love you, Sherlock. And I will always keep you safe."

"I don't mean to be a baby, John," Sherlock said softly, glad they weren't looking at each other. "I just . . . no one's ever given me any kind of . . . comfort and I wondered if you could, would."

"Of course I will," John murmured. "I'm a bit ashamed that you had to ask. I'm not living up to my boyfriend duties," he teased softly, holding him tighter. 

"The tea's the only one you should feel shame about," Sherlock said, squeezing John's hand against his belly. "Are you sleepy?"

John grinned and shook his head. "Only a little bit," he said. "I like lying like this with you."

"I like it, too. I thought I would want to fall asleep, but now I don't know if I do."

"We can keep chatting," John suggested. "You've got me a bit worried about you," he admitted. 

Sherlock turned over to face John. "Don't be worried," he said, touching John's face. "I meant what I said. I just had an urge to feel comfort. I kind of had given up on that as an option for me, I guess."

"That's why I am worried," he said quietly. "I don't want you to feel that way."

"Why not? Humans want comforting sometimes, don't they? I'm human, you know. Just because I rarely act like one doesn't mean I'm not," Sherlock knew he had built these walls himself and was surprised to find himself wanting John to break them down.

"Of course you're human," he said. "I didn't mean that . . . I just, I'm not used to seeing it, I guess. I'm sorry." He put his hand around Sherlock's neck and petted his hair gently. 

"I didn't mean it like that, like you forgot. If anything I meant it more like sometimes I forget," he stroked John's face and smiled softly. "I forget sometimes because I closed off some of the more human-aspects of my experiences, I think." He felt a bit stupid saying it aloud even though he knew he had good reasons to live as he had.

"So you want me to open them back up?" John smiled. 

"Maybe, I'll let you know, I'll try to ask . . . like today," Sherlock said, "Just . . . be nice about it. I'm not used to it, yeah?" He gave him a quick kiss so he had an excuse to close his eyes to this conversation.

"I have been nice," John murmured. "Haven't I?" He made sure to keep kissing Sherlock so he couldn't properly answer. 

"John, stop," Sherlock pulled back a bit and looked him in the eyes. "I don't want you to get the wrong end of the stick here. You have been nice. If you weren't, I'd never shared any of this with you. But," he tucked his head into John's chest, "not everyone in the world has been like you so that's why . . . I've been like I've been."

John hugged him tighter and pet his head. "I-I can't fix them, Sherlock. Only me," he murmured. 

"It is only you, John," he lifted his head and gave John a long kiss. "My god, you _are_ a sex pest. I want to make out again. Why do you do this to me, John Watson?" He started to kiss and suck lightly on John's neck.

"I was just having a lovely chat," John smiled. "I think you're the sex pest."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said, sucking harder on his neck. "But you made me like this. Think about it: before, I was never the one running around trying to get my leg over. I was perfectly satisfied without it. Then you make your little announcement, trying to seduce me into bed, and look at me now. I can't get enough. Ultimately, I believe, you are to blame."

"I was being a gentleman about it," John hummed softly. "You're the one seducing."

"Am not . . . I'm the victim here," Sherlock slid his hands down John's back and pulled him closer. He moved lowered and kissed John's chest before sucking one of his nipples softly.

John groaned softly, gripping his hair harder. "I think you know exactly what you're doing," he whispered. 

"Me?" Sherlock said. "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing." He moved to John's other nipple and sucked it into his mouth, flicking his tongue across the hard tip. He lowered his hands to John's arse and gripped it, pressing their hips together.

"Ah -- I beg to differ," he moaned, clutching Sherlock's shoulder. 

"What is it you're so sure I'm doing, John?" Sherlock said, cheekily. He lifted his head and bit John's bottom lip softly before licking and sucking on his ear.

"Seducing me," he sighed, biting his own lip as well. "Very well, I might add . . ."

"My friend Slightly Drunk John taught me how to do this. Do you remember him?" Sherlock said. "I think you may be familiar with his work." He moved down John's neck, sucking and nipping at the skin.

"I remember him," John sighed, tilting his head and biting his lip again. 

"He knows what you like and that's why I find him very useful," Sherlock said, slowly pressing his hand down John's body, lingering on his hip and rocking it slightly.

John moaned softly. "I think, you can figure it out." He arched and bucked forward gently. "You're doing so well . . . "

"These were all his suggestions," Sherlock said. He could feel himself growing hard and pressed against John. He slid his hands around both their cocks and held them as he kissed John hard and wet on the mouth.

John returned the kiss just as eagerly, borderline sloppy, clutching at Sherlock's hair again. Heat was bursting through his every nerve. It was incredible, intoxicating. 

Sherlock pulled back from John and turned over. "I think I'm ready for a nap now," he said cheekily, snuggling into the pillow.


	12. And Yet Another Way

"This was never Drunk John's idea," he grumbled, laying close to Sherlock. "He's a lot of things but a 'tease' is not one of them," he smiled. 

"I know, I'm going rogue here," Sherlock said, still turned away from him. "I thought this could lead to one of two things: you could be encouraged to just enjoy the want, like I did on the sofa, or you could . . . beg, plead with me to continue. Either one is fine with me, though the second one is slightly more . . . arousing."

"I don't have the patience to enjoy the want," John murmured. "Please, Sherlock? Please continue . . ."

"Tell me why I should, tell me why you _need_ me to continue," Sherlock had never thought about something like this before, he never particularly found any kind of roleplaying sexy. But he wanted to try something new, he was filled the desire to try new things -- everything -- with John. 

"Because it feels good . . .your mouth, on my skin . . ." John's voice was almost a whisper. "I love how it feels . . . I need it, and I want more . . . Please . . . please Sherlock . . ."

"That was pretty sexy, John," Sherlock said, turning over and sliding against him. "I don't know why . . . the desperation . . . quite sexy. It made me feel good. Does this mean you will do whatever I tell you to if I give you what you want?" Sherlock didn't know quite what he was asking, but he'd let John interpret it however he wanted to.

John swallowed hard and nodded. "Anything you want."

Sherlock leaned into John, kissing his mouth, "I don't know what I'm doing, John. Should we try something new together? We could do it like a game and either one of us could stop at anytime. What do you think?"

John kissed him and nodded. "Okay," he nodded. "That sounds good..."

"Okay, let's try until one of us wants to stop. I'm winging it here -- if you have any idea, feel free to share," Sherlock said smiling. He lay on his back, thinking for a minute. "Okay," he turned towards John. "Lie on your back and put your arms over your head."

John did as Sherlock asked. "Um . . . I want to be spontaneous about it, and let whatever happens happen, but I am nervous," he admitted. 

"Me too," Sherlock said as he sat up and moved over to straddle John. "Keep your hands above your head, hold on to the headboard if you want. Don't let go . . . I mean, unless you want to. Okay? Obviously anything I say you don't have to do so just keep that in mind so I don't have to keep saying 'if you really want to'." He swallowed. He leaned over John and kissed him hard on his mouth, biting his bottom lip a little harder than he had before. Already he could feel heat rising in his stomach.

John gripped the headboard hard, kissing him back, arching up to meet him. "My nerves aren't about you, okay?" He kissed him desperately, humming softly. 

"Good," Sherlock said, sliding down John's body. He put his mouth on one of John's nipples and sucked while he rubbed and squeezed the other one. "Tell me something sexy," he said quietly. 

John groaned softly. "Your mouth feels amazing . . .gives me chills," he breathed. He was wracking his brain for things to say, but it was hard to concentrate at the moment.

Sherlock could feel John's hard cock against his leg. His own ached. He moved down John's body and nipped at the sides of John's torso, gripping his hips. John's cock now pressed against Sherlock's chest. God, Sherlock wanted John -- he wanted to make John explode and that thought made Sherlock feel like he'd explode. This much want, he'd never felt this much want.

John could feel the different parts of Sherlock's body pressing down on his cock. He squirmed and brought his hands down to Sherlock's shoulders and hair. "You make me _want_ so much, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up at John. "You're supposed to keep your hands above your head, you fool! Are you going to play this game or not?" He smiled at John and then tried to pull a serious face. "This is my sexually menacing face: it means do as I say or I shall deny you satisfaction. John, don't laugh at my sexually menacing face. I mean it now," he sat up again and almost fell onto John's chest trying to lift John's hands back over his head. "Look, the more time I have to spend bossing you about the less time I'll get to spend doing other more interesting things to you." He leaned down and kissed John softly. "Okay, shall we go back to this game or what?"

"Sorry," John said, smiling and gripping the headboard again. "I won't laugh at anything you do. You're very sexy. And menacing."

"Okay, let's get back to being serious. Don't laugh and don't talk unless I ask you to." He lowered himself back down and hovered over John's cock. He leaned down but kept about an inch from it. He exhaled, letting his warm breath blow over it. "Tell me what you want me to do about this."

John whimpered softly and squirmed under his hot breath. "Suck me . . . please?" His knuckles were white as he gripped the headboard. 

"And what are you going to do for me if I do?"

"I'll . . . suck your cock, too," John said. "Properly -- like you did on the sofa."

"You've sucked my cock properly once today already. We're doing new stuff.  Anything else you have to offer?"

"Um..." John was panting slightly, every word he spoke ghosting hot air over his cock. "Anything, Sherlock . . . I'll . . . fuck you." The words slipped out a bit suddenly but he couldn't take them back now. 

"John," Sherlock said softly, his mouth still close to John's cock. "Do you want that to be a part of this game right now? Think carefully." He looked up at John and smiled softly. "Do you want to save that for another time, John? There are other things . . . should we do one of those instead?"

"Yes, sorry . . . I want to save that," he said his face flushed a little but he tried to be honest. "Um . . . I'll kiss you every inch and I'll find the sweet spots."

"That does sound nice," Sherlock said, lowering his head so his lips brushed against John's mouth as he spoke. "But before that, if I suck your cock, I want to put my finger inside you. I'll go slow and you can tell me to stop if you don't like it, but that's what I want you to offer me." He dipped his tongue down and quickly flicked it across John's hardness.

"Oh," John said softly. "Yes, please . . ."

Sherlock leaned down and spread his tongue wide across John's cock. He licked it all the way up, then flicked his tongue around the tip. He pressed his lips against it, then snuck one hand to the base and tipped it up. He let it pass against his lips as he moved it slowly into his mouth. He sucked in his cheeks a little and then moved the tip of his tongue around and up and down John. He slid his mouth over John, getting him wet, and then held John's cock lightly in his hand, moving it very slowly.

"John, sit up and get the lube out of your drawer. Set it on the bed next to your hip and then put your arms back over your head."

John writhed beneath him, moaning and panting softly. Twice his hands almost came down, hovering before he lifted them back up, not wanting Sherlock to stop. Everything he did felt so good. And then he did stop and John fought back a small groan. He sat up and kissed Sherlock before getting the lube, setting it down and laying back again, lifting his arms up.  

"That's good, John," Sherlock said and then swallowed John down as a reward, taking him as far in as he could before lifting his mouth back up to the tip. He did this a few more times, until John's cock was drenched in Sherlock's saliva. He pulled off and concentrated on the tip again. "You like it when I swallow you? Why? Tell me."

"It feels good, being deep like that," John panted softly. "Touching the back of your throat . . . knowing you want to please me so much you are pushing the limit." John sighed and bit his lip. "I will do that to you," he said quietly. "I want to."

That was a pretty sexy explanation, Sherlock thought. Sherlock hadn't been sure about the talking thing, but he thought it might be nice to try and that worked quite nicely for him. He shifted a little, trying to settle in a way where he could get a little friction against his own cock. He swallowed John down a few more times -- he did like doing and he did like that John liked his doing it. He sat up a little and reached for the lube. He poured some in his hands, still kissing John's cock as he did. Then he lifted it back into his mouth as he moved one hand to between John's legs, massaging his thighs and swiping his fingers across John's balls. 

"Relax, John, think about what happened on the sofa. Do you want that to happen again?" As he spoke, he brushed his fingers quickly against John's hole, then moving them back to his thighs.

"I do," John nodded. He thought about the sofa, and the shower, and even what they were doing now. He relaxed, his breathing became heavier. 

"That's good, John, I can feel you relaxing. Your body tells me a lot." He swallowed John again and as he did, he slowly pressed just the tip of his index finger inside John. He lifted his head and said softly, "Relax again, John" and pushed a little more in. "Spread your legs a little." He held John's cock to his mouth and said, "This time when I swallow, lift your hips and push yourself into my throat, okay? Just think about doing that. You ready?"

John took his hands off of the headboard and gripped the mattress instead. "Yes, I'm ready," he murmured. When Sherlock swallowed John pushed up, bucking into Sherlock mouth with a soft groan. 

As John moved down Sherlock's throat, he pushed his finger slowly, all the way into John. He kept it still inside him as he moved his head up and down on John's cock. Then he lifted up again to catch his breath. "Can you feel me inside you? It's like a pressure, but it shouldn't hurt. You okay? I want to move it in and out now," Sherlock licked at John's tip. 

"I . . . I feel it," John nodded. How clever of him to do those things at the same time. "It doesn't hurt. You can move," he moaned softly. 

"Good," Sherlock said. He began slowly moving his slicked finger back, almost pulling it out, before pushing it in again. He got into a rhythm with his finger which mimicked the rhythm he was using to move up and down with his mouth on John's cock. Then he slipped his finger all the way out. As he pressed John into his throat again, he moved two fingers gently into John, returning to the rhythm. He lifted his head again and said, "Two fingers now, John, two fingers to stretch you open a little. . ." he flicked his tongue on John's tip. "Stretch first, think of that the next time you imagine it happening." He looked over at John. "Does it feel good? Be honest."

John gasped softly when Sherlock added a second finger because this time he felt it going in. It burned, just a bit, but it was not unpleasant. "It feels different," John answered honestly. "Not bad. Keep -- keep going."  

Sherlock moved his fingers a little more firmly -- not rough, but steady. "Imagine it's not fingers, John. Imagine I'm fucking you. Can you imagine that? Do you think you'd like that one day?"

John squeezed his eyes shut and moaned a bit loudly, louder than he meant to. He imagined being stretched even more, having something bigger moving inside of him like that. "Sherlock," he moaned, half whimpered, tugging on the sheets underneath him. 

Sherlock stopped moving his fingers now. "Relax, John, relax your body, take a few deep breaths," Sherlock said softly. He moved the hand that was on John's cock and rested it lightly on John's chest as he slowly slid his fingers from John's body. He moved to John's side, lying down next to him. "Bring your arms down now," Sherlock said. He moved one of John's hands to John's cock so he could stroke himself. He pulled the other one to his own cock, using John's hand under his own to stroke his own aching cock.

"I've changed my mind, John. I don't want to wait. I want you to fuck me now," Sherlock said huskily into John's ear.

John panted and nodded. "Please . . .yes please." In his excitement he gripped both of their cocks and stroked much faster. 

Sherlock said into John's ear, "I don't want you to think of the other people you've fucked, but just know that the main thing that is going to be different is only that it's me and you. Use your fingers first, use the lube, but other than that, you know exactly what to do, John." He rolled onto his back. "Get a condom and then lie down beside me. You know exactly what to do, John, don't be nervous."

John sat himself up and grabbed a condom before crawling over Sherlock, sitting between his legs. He looked down at Sherlock and shuddered. "You're so gorgeous," he mumbled, pouring a bit of lube into his hand and rubbing it onto his fingers. This was nothing like anything he'd done before. He was thinking about nothing but Sherlock. He massaged his hole for a bit before finally pushing his finger inside. 

Sherlock let out a little gasp and looked up at John. "It's been a long time for me, John, so slow at first, but after that, do as I say, okay? If I say harder, don't stop and worry, just do it harder. Just because your hands are free doesn't mean I'm not still the boss of you, yeah?" he smiled at John. He wanted him, he loved him. "I love you," he said and pressed himself into the bed, separating his legs a little to take John in.

John nodded, slowly moving his finger in and out of Sherlock. He added a bit more lube and pushed in a second one, slowly, steadily paced.  

"Yes, John," Sherlock said, closing his eyes and turning his head on the pillow. It had been a very long time -- he hadn't really missed it, he hadn't thought he had. But already he knew this was different, it was more than just physical pleasure, it was so much bigger. It filled his whole body, it filled his head. "John, god, yes," he moaned.

John bit his lip, stretching his fingers gently. His free hand stroked his own cock, feather light, enjoying the sight of it all. 

Sherlock could feel his hips start to rock. It felt so good having John inside him and his heart pounded at the anticipation. He slipped his hand down to hold his own cock, not moving on it, just holding it, waiting, wanting.

John slowly added a third, twisting lightly. "Can I now?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. He tried to calm himself, get control over his breath as he waited. "I want you to watch me, watch my face. I want you to see how it makes me feel so you know it's good."

John nodded as he reached for the condom. He moved and hovered over Sherlock, hand by his shoulder as he lined up and slowly pushed into him. 

Sherlock's eyes closed and his head tipped back into the pillow. His mouth fell open and a low humming moan escaped his lips. "John, I feel you filling me, it feels . . . so good. Don't stop."

John continued to slow move deeper and deeper until he was all the way in, groaning at how tight Sherlock felt around him. He leaned down and kissed his chin and mouth and neck.

"Look at me, John," Sherlock said, holding the back of John's head with his hands. "God, it feels good. This is us, John, you're inside," he kissed John's mouth and then pressed his face against John's cheek. "Move your hips, move into me."

John met his eyes, panting as he started to roll his hips, sliding in and out of Sherlock. It felt incredible, familiar but so very different.

Sherlock tilted his hips and shifted his legs. He opened his eyes to John. "A bit harder, not faster yet, just harder. I want to feel all of you inside me."

John kept his steady pace but he snapped his hips forward so that he entered Sherlock with a harder thrust, grunting softly with each one, gripping the bed sheet near his head. 

Sherlock's body reacted to John's movements."Tell me how it feels for you, John," Sherlock moaned.

"Tight," he gasped, taking a shuddering breath. "Good but because it's you . . . even better," he smiled.

Sherlock tried to make a smile but his rough breath and the overwhelming pleasure made it hard for him to do anything purposefully. "Kiss me again," Sherlock said, reaching a hand up to John.

John leaned down and kissed him hard, moving his hips a bit faster into Sherlock. He was close . . . he needed to. 

Sherlock breathed into John's ear, "I want you to come inside, John. Move as fast and hard as you need to, I want to feel everything." He pushed John's chest a bit, to give himself room to stroke himself. He tried to keep his eyes open to watch John's face. John was so gorgeous.

John groaned and nodded, moving his hips faster, a steady quick pace. He pushed into Sherlock over and over and grunted with the effort. Heat was pooling into his stomach, fast, making him screw his eyes shut. But he wanted to see, he wanted that so badly, and he growled softly as he opened them, staring down at Sherlock. He came suddenly, surprising himself. He pushed deep into Sherlock and swore, moaning loudly.  

Watching John, feeling him pound into his body, it was almost too much for Sherlock. When John came, it was as intense as if it had been his own orgasm and then all of a sudden it was, and Sherlock's cock jerked in his hand, spilling onto his stomach. He shook for a second and then wrapped his arms around John's back and pulled him. He wanted to feel John's recovery with his own -- he wanted their chests beating against each other, he wanted their breaths to match. "Fuck, John," he breathed out.

John panted heavily, feeling dizzy, collapsing onto Sherlock with all his weight. He felt drained, exhausted, and so very happy. 

Sherlock wanted to speak, wanted to check that he felt okay in his head about what had happened. But he didn't think he could make proper words. He just held John to him, squeezed him. It felt like they couldn't be closer, like they would never be separated.

John closed his eyes and thought he might sleep but quickly snapped them open. He couldn't sleep here, on top of Sherlock like this. He'd crush the man. But his body was so tired, he didn't know how he would ever move again. 

Sherlock saw John's eyes open. "Okay?" he managed to say.

"Mmm," John nodded slightly. "You?"

"Better than okay," Sherlock said softly. "You need to . . . you need to move and take the condom off. I want you to lie beside me."

"Right," John said, heaving himself up. He pulled out slowly, took off the condom and tied it off before tossing it into the waste basket. He lay down beside Sherlock, on his side, facing him. 

"That was a turn up for the books," Sherlock said. "I thought we came in for a nap." He laughed a little and put his hands in John's hair. "What do you think of all that then?"

"You're a bad influence," John smiled. "It was amazing, Sherlock. Everything."

Sherlock smiled. To him it did feel like everything. So much in just a few days. But he didn't regret any of it. "It felt fantastic, John. You . . . it was just so good."

John nodded. "I'm glad that you liked it," he said. "That I didn't mess it up. I knew what to do, like you said but . . . I don't know."

"It was perfect, John," Sherlock said, lifting his hand to John's face. "All those other times . . . it was just practice for this." He smiled at him.

John smiled. "I feel like I could sleep for days. It was so . . . intense."

"Let's sleep then. Thank god you solved that case this morning. We've kind of done nothing else except sex and sleep. I'm not complaining but it is a rather unusual way for a consulting detective and his blogger to have spent the day," Sherlock turned on to his belly and reached over to hold John's hand.

"What happens when he get another case?" John asked, turning onto his stomach as well. 

"You'll probably solve it, but let me claim I did . . . to maintain my reputation and all," Sherlock looked at John. "Look, I've got to be honest -- I'm probably not going to be able to manage this rate of orgasm for much longer, John. Neither of us is sixteen anymore, you know. We'll be able to do sex stuff and still maintain a relatively normal life. We'll figure it out. This has just been special, since it's the beginning." He stroked John's hand with his fingers.

"Yeah, I know," John nodded. "I know. I was teasing. Of course it'll all calm down. That's okay." He realised he was rambling and he took a deep breath. "We have all the time in the world."

"I've loved everything so far, John," Sherlock said sleepily. "I'll feel the same way when I wake up." He could feel his eyes closing.

"Good night, Sherlock," John said quietly, closing his own as well. It wasn't very long after that he was sleeping. 


	13. They Both Feel The Same

Sherlock woke first and was a bit confused about where he was. He shifted in the bed and felt a sharp pain. Then he remembered: he was in John's bed where John had fucked him. He smiled and looked over at John, who was still sleeping. He looked comfortable, like he had no care in the world, and Sherlock realised that John didn't often look like that. He hoped he played a role in that comfort. He loved John as he was, he wanted John to be okay with who he was as well.

"Are you dreaming?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John had gotten up a couple hours ago to use the bathroom, but knew that he would be sleeping in late. He was still tired from the night before. So he made a cup of tea and brought it up, setting it on Sherlock's side of the bed. He lay back down, falling asleep again almost instantly. 

"John? I need you to wake up. Something's happened," Sherlock said. He knew he was being selfish but he couldn't stop himself.

John groaned again but he turned onto his back and let his head fall to face Sherlock. "What?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed for a little bit longer. Just five more minutes.

"My tea's gone cold," Sherlock said, pinching John's arm softly.

John couldn't hide his smile as he turned away from Sherlock again. "Always something," he grumbled.

"Fine, I can tell you still want to sleep," Sherlock said. "You go ahead and sleep. I'll just lie here with cold tea and touch your face until you're ready to get up." Sherlock put his finger out and gently poked John's cheek and then his nose and then stuck it in his ear.

John sighed loudly and turned to face him again. "I'm not making you more tea, Sherlock. And furthermore, if I don't properly rest how do you expect me to keep up with your wild urges?" He grinned and grabbed his hand to stop it from poking again.

"You've been asleep for bloody hours, John!" Sherlock said. "I don't understand people who can sleep for hours straight. I was under the impression that we were spending the weekend sleeping for a couple of hours, having sex, then sleeping for a couple of hours, and then having sex again. It's been like six hours since I've had sex, John. That's intolerable to me." He slid down the bed and curled against John, kissing his cheek softly.

"You really are trying to kill me," John chuckled softly. "I have to make up for the time I wasted making you tea."

"I'm not trying to kill you, John, just ruin for you for anyone else," Sherlock smiled softly.

"No need love, I'm not going anywhere," John smiled softly. He kissed Sherlock's temple and then grinned. "Want to make me some tea?" He couldn't even get the question out without laughing.

"Fuck off, John," Sherlock said. "By that, of course, I mean, yes." He smiled and stretched out in the bed.

"No, no," John said, getting up faster. "I'll go make tea. It's the least I can do." He came around and took the cold cup and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I'll be back," he said as he put his robe on.

Sherlock watched John leave. He was alone in John's room, in his bed. It felt odd. He felt better when John returned, and not just because he had tea. He took the mug which warmed his hands. "Thank you," he said. "You're good to me. I appreciate it. I mean it."

John smiled. "What if I told you that's the cold tea reheated?" He was teasing, of course, but he couldn't help it.

"I don't even care," Sherlock said. "I'm super sweet on you this morning. Come get back in bed and get by me."

"I am joking," John said, climbing into bed and scooting carefully closer to Sherlock.

"Can we have one more day like yesterday, please? Sleeping and sex and stuff?" Sherlock said. "I'm embarrassed a little to be saying this, but I'm trying to be honest."

"We can have as many days like that as you want. All in a row or another one in four months," John smiled.

Sherlock pretended to be thinking. "I choose one more today _and_ another one in four months." He took a sip of tea. "Are you actually going to get dressed today by the way?"

"Not if you're going to be regularly sexing me up," John grinned. "I want to offer easy access."

Sherlock laughed. "If you insist. I was thinking we could have a shower and get dressed and then I could take your clothes off for you."

"Oh. I suppose that will be fun, too," John nodded. "All right, you've convinced me."

"Good," Sherlock said, taking another drink. "Enjoy your shower then. I'll see you when you get out."

John's mouth fell open but he took a quick drink and stood up. He dropped his dressing and shrugged. "See you," he said, leaving slowly. 

Hmmm, Sherlock thought. He was not going to let that one go. He waited in John's room until he heard the bathroom door shut and then he moved downstairs until he heard the water come on. He waited another minute and went in. He sat down on the toilet and said, "John, I hope you don't mind but I'm desperate for the toilet. Go on with your business in there." 

"Sherlock, I'm almost done!" John said, moving a bit quicker to finish up.

Sherlock stood up and peeked in the curtain. "I'm just teasing, John. Don't rush. I want to get in with you." He stepped in and gave John a kiss. "Have you washed your hair already?"

John nodded. "But I can do your hair, if you like," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said smiling. He rubbed his eyes and stretched for a moment. "Let me get under the water properly for a second." He swapped places with John and got his hair all wet. "Okay, make me pretty."

"I'm not a miracle worker," John teased, landing up his hair. He moved his fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp.

"Why are you so mean this morning?" Sherlock said. "Are you going to deliberately get soap in my eye? Is this what you're always like after you have sex with someone? It's hurtful. If I were capable of crying, I'd probably be doing so right now."

"I simply meant that you are so beautiful already that I cannot do anything else! No improvements can possibly be made," John grinned and kissed his cheek. 

"Hmmm. . . back pedaling now that you've been caught out as a love 'em and leave 'em type," Sherlock said smiling. "That feels good actually," Sherlock tipped his head so it was easier for John to reach. "My body's a bit sore, are you going to massage that as well?"

"Anything you want," John smiled. "In here? Or when we lay back down? I can properly sit over you and massage you."

"Actually that sounds fucking fantastic. Yes, let's finish here and go lie on the bed again. Let's not even bother getting dressed, after all," Sherlock reached for the soap and quickly lathered himself up.

"See? And you judged me for not wanting to wear clothes," John grinned, pushing him under the water to wash of as he did his own body quickly. 

Sherlock stepped out and dried himself off. "Your room or mine?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter to me," John said, turning the water off and stepping out as well. He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. 

"Let's go to mine then but stop in yours first. I have lube but no condoms. Just in case, I mean," Sherlock said. "I'll go get us some water to take with us. In case we need lose fluids and need rehydration," he smiled.

"Just in case . . . right," John grinned. "I'll get the water and meet you there," he said. 

Sherlock went out and poured two glasses of water. He saw his phone sitting on his desk and realised he hadn't looked at since yesterday morning. That was very unusual. But he didn't look at it now. He went to his room and set a glass on each side of the bed. Then he crawled under the covers and waited for John.

John brought the whole box of condoms and the lube back to Sherlock's room. He set them on his side of the bed as he crawled towards Sherlock. "On your stomach, then," he smiled. 

"Yes, sir," Sherlock said, turning over. "Are you going to be the boss of me this time?"

"You're the one demanding massage," John laughed. "But yes, I suppose I can be," he nodded, climbing onto the back of his thighs. John put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and started to knead the muscles. 

"John," Sherlock said seriously. "I'm not demanding one -- you offered. Trust me, you'll know when I demand something. This isn't it. But fuck, it feels really good already so I don't want you to stop. But you can be the boss this time. Just don't be a mean one, please." He relaxed into the bed. He recognised the smell of the sheets and he closed his eyes.

"I'm never mean," John said. "Put your arms out to the side please." When he did, John continued kneading outwards, moving to his biceps and arms. He bent forward to reach and brought his mouth to Sherlock's ear. "Today, I want to practice . . . swallowing you," he murmured, and then sat up again as if he hadn't said anything. He moved his hands down Sherlock's back. "You're a bit tense," he said in his normal voice. 

"I'm not tense, I'm sore," Sherlock said. "You may recall that I'm not an incredibly athletic person yet in the past few days, you've been making me exert quite a lot of energy." He tried to relax his body and then thought perhaps not thinking so much about his body might be a better strategy. He'd just let John look after it, be in charge.

"Don't try too hard as being worried will work against you," Sherlock added softly about the other thing John had said. "It's okay if you can't, I'm not sure everyone can, but if it's important to you to try, I can talk you through it. I'm happy to let you practice as much as you'd like." Sherlock felt a stirring in his cock, just talking about John's mouth on him. 

"It's just a reflex, right? One I can train?" John moved to his lower back, his hands making small, hard circles. 

"Probably," Sherlock said. "It's not a big deal. Don't make it a big deal. Just make it something we sometimes do and then it'll be easier."

John nodded and moved lower, massaging his arse now. "Are you sore?"

"A little, it's not too bad. Not too bad to put me off it. I hope it won't put you off it," he said softly. "It's just because it's new. It'll be gone soon enough. Don't stop rubbing me though."

John moved lower, massaging the back of his thighs now. He hoped it wouldn't put him off it either. He doubted it would. Sherlock's fingers had felt incredible. But that would be for later. He scooted and massaged Sherlock's calves. 

"John," Sherlock said softly. "Do you feel different now?"

"Different?" John asked, now rubbing his feet. 

"Now that you've . . . done it with a man?"

"Oh. Not really." John climbed back onto the bed and lay beside Sherlock. "I feel different having done it with you. It seems silly but . . . you were my first, sort of, so I feel different about you. A good different." 

Sherlock turned his head to look at John. "Do you think you'll ever let me do it to you? Or is that _too_ different?"

"I would. When you were using your fingers yesterday I thought about . . . something bigger or harder . . . I think I would like it."

"You flatter me," Sherlock said smiling and reaching over to stroke John's hair. "There's no rush. Whatever you want to try, whenever you want to, we can." He leaned over and gave John a soft kiss on the mouth.

"If we're doing an all day thing again, I suppose we should pace ourselves a bit."

"Yes, sexy stuff punctuated with short rests, I think . . . " Sherlock said. "Did the massage count as the sex part or the nap part?"

"Depends," John smiled. "Have I rubbed you into a sleepy stupor or into a slightly horny frenzy?" 

"The massage was relaxing, but I was slightly distracted by the sexy talk," Sherlock admitted.

"I just wanted you know what I was thinking about, for later. I don't know if you have a proper plan for the day, but I wanted that to be in it."

"I don't have a plan, John," Sherlock said. "I'm not a sexual mastermind, you know. Besides I thought you were the boss of today." He snuggled closer to John.

"Oh yeah," John nodded. "Well, you sound a bit sleepy so you can take a nap and we can have sexy time later."

"All right then," Sherlock said. It was good to be in his own bed. "You're the boss. But don't assume that just because I'm willing to sleep today that means I always will be. When I'm thinking about a case, I get to be the boss of when I sleep." He stayed snuggled into John, but loosened his grip around him and closed his eyes.

"Of course you will," John smiled, petting his hair lightly.

Sherlock found himself asleep and dreaming. He and John were on a train. Sherlock felt jealous about every person who passed John. At first he tried to hide it but eventually he just started pushing people who got near him. John just frowned through the whole thing. He shifted in his sleep.

John turned to watch him sleep for a bit, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, his jaw, and his neck. Very lightly, so he wouldn't wake him. As Sherlock continued sleeping, John got an idea, wondering how much he could do and not wake him, so he started down Sherlock's chest. 

The dream changed. Sherlock and John were no longer on a train but instead were in the flat. They were lying on the sofa but they weren't talking or kissing or anything. They weren't doing anything. But it felt like a nicer dream.

John moved lower, sucking his skin lightly, trying to keep quiet. 

Sherlock's hand moved, perhaps in reaction to something in the dream. But he stayed asleep.

John carefully rolled near Sherlock's legs, keeping his weight on the mattress. He dipped his tongue into Sherlock's navel, nipping at the skin, moving lower and lower to his groin. That skin was very soft. He sucked Sherlock's cock into his mouth, licking it with a flat tongue again. 

Suddenly in the dream, Sherlock was aroused. He was in the same room as John, but John wasn't touching him. He wanted him to. He said John's name, the noise coming out of his mouth for real.

John bit his lip and looked up, but Sherlock didn't move again. He gently sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing gently around his slowly hardening cock.

Everything was confusing Sherlock in his dream. His leg twitched.

John started to rub his thighs now, needing him to wake up. He hummed softly, pressing his fingers into his skin.

Sherlock moved his hand to touch his leg and hit John's face. His sleepy eyes opened and he rubbed them. It took a second before he realised that John was between his legs. He lifted his head a little. "You haven't been being mean to me, have you?" he said, smiling sleepily.

"Not at all," John murmured, sucking the head. "Very nice, actually."

"Mmmm," Sherlock said, letting his head fall back on the pillow. "Very nice indeed." Then he lifted his head again and said, "Did you swallow it? I'm going to be annoyed if I missed it!"

"No, I didn't yet," John smiled. "I'm going a bit slow, to make sure." He sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing lightly. 

Sherlock reached down and fiddled with John's hair. "I have two secrets I can tell you but only if you promise that you'll never use them on someone else."

John pulled off and stroked him slowly. "I promise," he nodded. 

"Start to make a yawn. Your throat will start to open. Think about how that feels and you can train yourself to do it on your own. That's the first secret. The second one requires you to change your position. Think about it in a scientific way. Lie down next to me, top to tails. It'll be easier." He smiled.

John took Sherlock into his mouth and started a fake yawn, feeling Sherlock go deeper. Oh. When he pulled out he looked up. He shifted his body round and took Sherlock into his mouth again, having to do the yawn again. The next time, he did it on his own. 

"Jesus, John," Sherlock moaned. He was already aching, already wanting. It felt so good. "You okay? It's good, John."

John pulled off. "I'm okay," he said. He took down Sherlock again, feeling Sherlock go into his throat, moving up and down, swallowing. 

Sherlock moaned as he moved down John's throat, going so far inside. He hoped John really was okay but he loved this, loved that John was doing, loved how it felt. He was cautious not to move on his own. His hand held John's leg, feeling so connected to him. He let his back arch just a bit up to John, he couldn't help it. 

Every once in a while he would almost gag, but it was easy to ignore, to push the feeling away as he moved. He tasted precome and tried to focus on that. He hummed and flattened his tongue as he moved, wanting it to feel great. Wanting, a bit unrealistically, for this to be the best one Sherlock ever got. 

"John," Sherlock moaned again. "I'm . . . you seem to have mastered this rather quickly. It's too good, John, I can't last much longer." He slipped his hand up into his own hair. "What do you want me to do?"

"Come," John said. He could do this. He would, for Sherlock. He went back to bobbing quickly, flicking his tongue over the tip. He rubbed Sherlock's thighs, letting him know it was okay.

"It doesn't matter what happens next, John," Sherlock tried to say quickly, before his orgasm took him and his body jerked up and felt frozen for a moment and then collapsed on the bed. His eyes has closed, he had lost all sense, but then he said John's name between gasping breaths, reaching his hand down for him to see if he was okay.

John gasped when it first happened but he adjusted and swallowed a bit sloppily. He stroked Sherlock through it, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

"John," Sherlock said. "Come get by me, please."

John kissed his thigh softly and turned round, laying beside him.

Sherlock put his arms around John and pulled him closer. "You are something else, John Watson. When you set your mind to something, you don't muck about." He smiled.

"Mind over matter, I suppose," he said quietly. "Was it good? Be honest with me."

"John, it was very, very good," Sherlock said. "I definitely need a nap again, that's how good it was." He squeezed him. "Was it okay with you?"

John nodded. "I would do it again, if you wanted me to," he smiled. "Your tricks helped me."

"I'm glad I can reap the benefit," Sherlock said. Sherlock kissed John's face a few times and then moved his mouth to John's ear, where he whispered, "I love you, Dr Deep Throat."

John flushed and chuckled softly. "I love you, too," he said, holding Sherlock tighter. "The things I do for you," he teased. 

"Don't joke, John," Sherlock said, bringing his face to John's to look in his eyes. "I appreciate the thought and I'm glad we can each try new things, but never do anything just for me, yeah? Promise? I want you to want to do everything you do." He pinched John's arm softly to lighten the mood. "So what is it you want to do now?"

"I did want to do it, Sherlock, honest." He sighed and smiled at Sherlock. "I got myself hard, a bit, doing all that. But I am going to enjoy the want for now. Take your rest, and we can do more later."

"All right then," Sherlock said. He rolled over, away from John, and made exaggerated snoring noises. Then he slowly rolled back towards John, stretching his arms and yawning. "Oh, you still here? How long did I sleep? I feel so rested." He slid his hand down to John's cock. "What's this then? Morning glory?" he started to slowly stroke it as he leaned in and licked John's neck.

John couldn't help laughing even though it quickly turned into a breathless moan. John tilted his head and nodded. "That's good," he breathed. "Screw the want."

Sherlock slipped one of his legs between John's, bending it to separate John's legs. He leaned over onto John, moving between John's spread thighs. He put one hand on the bed next to John's chest, holding his weight, and went back to stroking John's cock. He used a firm, slow stroke. "You're so sexy," he said quietly, watching John's face react to his touch.

John reached up and held his waist, rubbing with his thumb gently as his hips bucked lightly into his hands. 

Sherlock kept moving his hand on John's cock. He smiled and said, "Are we trying anything new this time?"

"I'd like your fingers again," John admitted, subconsciously spreading his legs a bit more.

Sherlock smiled. "Give us the lube then," Sherlock said. "I'm glad you chose that," he admitted. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth softly. He lifted off his arm and sat up a bit, pouring some lube into one hand and wiggling his fingers to spread it. He leaned back on his other arm, gave John another quick kiss, and went back to his cock. He slicked it with the lube, gripping hard and slow, from the base to the tip.

John moaned softly, rubbing his own stomach before looping his arms around Sherlock's neck and playing with the curls at the base of his neck. 

"Maybe I'll just keep going like this for an hour or so," Sherlock said. He looked down at John. "Maybe I'll take you right to the edge and then decide it's time for a nap." His hand sped up just a little.

"Oh, don't," John whined softly. "You can't be mean either," he murmured. 

"I'm teasing," Sherlock said. "I'd never make an hour anyway. I'd come just from watching you," he said. "Or my arm would go numb," he smiled. He let go of John's cock and shifted his body. He turned John on his side and lay down next to him, upside down. His hand went back to John's cock, taking a minute to get back into the rhythm since he was now approaching it from a different angle and using his other hand. He flicked his tongue to John's cock and then crinkled his nose. "I don't love the taste of this lube," he said. He slipped his slicked hand between John's legs and pulled gently on his balls. 

"I'll buy you the flavoured kind," John moaned, putting his top foot flat on the mattress to open his legs. 

"I'll get used to it," Sherlock said. "Your taste makes it better." He flicked his tongue on John's cock a few more times as he dragged a finger over his hole. "You're not sore from yesterday?" he asked.

John shook his head. "I'm okay," he said. "I'm not so fragile." He smiled and leaned his head on Sherlock's thigh again. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'll do it a little different today. Just say if you want me to change." Sherlock slowly pushed one finger in and immediately began moving it in and out, not hard or rough, but steady and all the way in. He sucked the tip of John's cock into his mouth and swirled his tongue.

John groaned softly, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of Sherlock's finger sliding in and out. He gripped Sherlock's leg a little harder, willing himself to stay relaxed.

Sherlock held John's cock at the base and lowered his mouth over it, letting saliva cover it. He kept the pulse of his finger, curling it slightly to brush John's prostate. He hummed as he moved on John's cock, keeping his tongue flat as he moved up and down.

"Ah, Sherlock . . ." John moaned, feeling his finger brush his prostate. 

Sherlock slipped in a second finger and pressed in and out again. He lifted his head a bit to lick across John's balls. He watched his fingers moving into John. He was fucking John with his fingers and suddenly he felt an urge to really fuck him. Sherlock's cock had been getting stiff, but he felt an urge to shift and press into John, move hard and fast and fill him. The urge surprised him a little. He slowed his fingers just a bit, took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. "You okay?" he asked to distract himself for a moment.

Something must have distracted Sherlock because suddenly he was moving his fingers a bit faster and harder. John whimpered and almost said something, but he adjusted and it felt good. Then Sherlock seemed to catch himself and he slowed down again. "Yes . . . are you?" John asked quietly. 

"Yeah, sorry, you're just . . . so sexy, John," Sherlock said. "I just . . . I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel." He covered John's cock and thighs with little kisses, keeping his eyes closed as he moved his fingers steadily.

"I do feel good. What you're doing feel fantastic, even before," John said. 

"You mean when I went faster? Should I try three fingers?" Sherlock said, a little breathlessly.

John nodded. "Yes, we can try that," he murmured. He shifted just a bit before taking a slow, deep breath. 

"Hand me the lube again," Sherlock said, slowly pulling his fingers out. He covered his hand again and dribbled some of John's hole. "Tell me if it's too much," he said. He squeezed his three fingers together and ever so slowly pushed into John. He turned his attention back to John's cock, licking and kissing, as he continued to push in his fingers. "Okay?" he asked softly. 

"Yes, Jesus . . . " John moaned, arching a bit before relaxing back down again. His fingers were long and slender, but adding one more made such a difference. John focused on his breathing and on Sherlock's mouth until the stretching feeling started to fade.

"Do you like the feeling? Can I move them a little bit more?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Slow first, okay?" he breathed. 

"I promise," Sherlock said. He pressed his fingers in and then pulled them out almost the whole way, before moving them back in. He moved them slowly, but steadily. "John," he moaned softly and then closed his eyes again to avoid getting too worked up again.

"I'm okay. It's good," John whispered.

"Should I keep going or do you want me to stop?" He put his mouth back on John's cock, pressing lines up and down it with the tip of his tongue.

"Keep . . . .keep going," John moaned, shifting lightly in his attempt to keep still. 

"Don't stay still, John," Sherlock said, moving his fingers just a tiny bit faster. "Move if you want to. It's okay." He kissed John's skin, wherever he could reach.

John bucked, pushing down on Sherlock's fingers. He moaned loudly, writhing a bit as he tried to find a good movement, thrusting awkwardly from his half sideways position. He'd gone from this-burns-and-feels-a-bit-awkward to wanting so much more of it. "Please . . . Sherlock, more. . . " 

John's movements and noises were starting to get to Sherlock -- the urge returned. He let his hand move a bit more quickly, a little harder. His other hand reached down to his own cock, stroking it just a few times, before he reached back up and squeezed the soft flesh of John's inner thighs.

"Yes," John breathed as his hand moved quicker. John rolled onto his back and his hand came down to his side, gripping at Sherlock's chest and shoulders. 

Sherlock moved up on one elbow, watching his fingers moving into John. Then he moved his body back up the bed. "John, please," he struggled to get words out, he couldn't believe how intense this was becoming. "Please, just hold me -- don't move, just touch -- please. . . .You're driving me crazy. I want . . I want you to love this."

John panted and moaned, his hand sliding down Sherlock's stomach and gripping his cock. "I want . . . please . . ." he moaned. He stroked it quickly, pushing down on Sherlock's fingers. 

"What do you want me to do, John? Tell me," Sherlock said, panting.

"Fuck me," John groaned, surprised at how easily that came out. "Sherlock please . . .please." The second one came out as a desperate whimper.

"John, really? I want to, god, I want to," Sherlock moaned. He carefully started to move his body to sit up, but he was going to have to take his fingers out. "Relax your body," he said, sliding them out. "Give me a condom," he said as he sat up and moved between John's legs.

John rubbed his face hard and tried to roll for the drawer. He had never felt so frustrated in his life -- pure need coursing through him so strongly that he hardly cared for his own safety or comfort. All because of Sherlock and his lovely fingers. 

Sherlock grabbed towards the drawer, taking a condom from John's hand. He stroked himself a few times and then rolled it on. He moved back between John's legs. He glanced up at John, "Are you sure? Tell me you're sure . . . I won't . . . I want to but only if you're sure." He squeezed John's legs again.

John smiled, "I need something to fill me -- I'd prefer it'd be you. I want you."

Sherlock smiled. "I want you, too, John, I want this." He lined himself up and pressed his tip against John's opening. He leaned his hips, moving in slowly. The tightness was incredible, it was almost too good, too much. "God, John," Sherlock exhaled. He pressed about halfway in and then leaned over John, his hands on the mattress on either side of John's shoulders. "Fuck, you feel good," he said, looking at John. "You okay? I've got to move now, John, I've got to fuck you, please." He tried to wait for John's response, but his hips were already moving, pushing in deeper, pushing all the way in.

"Yes . . . yes . . . fuck," John moaned, ignoring the burn of being stretched because it felt so very good to finally be full like that. "You . . . can move," he nodded, gripping Sherlock's arms. He opened his eyes and met Sherlock's, groaning softly and panting.

Sherlock began rocking his hips, not too hard -- not as hard as he had an urge to -- but hard enough. The tightness, filling John, the noises John was making -- it was so much and so good. "John, Jesus, it's good, you feel so good," Sherlock said in between soft grunts. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know how much I can take, it's . . . too good." He tried to swallow.

"I'm not . . . fragile, yeah?" John panted. He could hardly form words and it was taking a lot of effort. He bucked up to meet Sherlock's body, moaning loudly. "It's good . . . so good."

"Yes . . . lift your hips like that," Sherlock said, "fuck, that feels good." Sherlock tried to look down at John's gorgeous face, he tried to take deep breaths, but it was too late, he lost control of his body. "John, I'm . . . I can't stop now," Sherlock's hips moved against John, pushing himself in, feeling like he couldn't stop and then he felt the tension explode inside him and he thrust one last time, one last push in. He froze and his mouth fell open and his eyes squeezed shut. He called John's name and then he could breathe again and he looked down at John. He bent his elbows, sliding out of John and to his side. He reached down and stroked John hard and fast, without saying anything.

"Please," John whispered, but he was already coming, mumbling Sherlock's name. 

Sherlock pulled John to him, wrapping his arms around his back. He buried his face into John's neck, whispering, "Thank you, John, it felt so good because it was you, it was us." He kissed John's skin, feeling the rise and fall of John's chest as he caught his breath. "I'm sorry it was so fast . . . I'll last longer next time, it was just almost too much to take." 

John nodded. "You were . . .wonderful," he panted.

"You were perfect," Sherlock said. "You're going to be a little sore . . . I'm sorry, I tried to keep things in control but I couldn't . . . you are, you're just so much, not too much, just . . . it all means so much because you mean so much."

"I lost myself . . . it was good, Sherlock," John tried to make sense. "I'm sorry . . . I just got lost."

"Don't apologise, you fool. I think it's a good sign. You are so gay for me and you know it," he pulled his head back to look at John and smiled.

"I think it's nap time again," John said quietly. Coming down from his high, he was starting to feel a little ache and he wanted to sleep through it.

Sherlock wrapped himself around John carefully. "I love you, John," he said. "I'll still feel the same when I wake up." He settled his head against the pillow and closed his eyes.

"Me too," John whispered.

And when they woke up, they both felt the same.


End file.
